Letting Go
by Isefyr
Summary: Draco thought he knew everything there was to know. He never thought that he would feel like Harry Potter, he never thought he would kill his father, and he certainly never thought anything about Hermione Granger. Guess he has a lot to learn.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One- Seconds**

Healing is a long process.

For outside injuries, it's a simple formula. Injury + Treatment + Time = Healed. You can track the process of the healing, and you can determine what you need to adjust to return everything to normal- muscle, blood and bone.

When they're inside, it's a little bit different. First, you have to acknowledge the injury. Then, you have to want help. And even then, you have to find the right person to help you, even if that person is yourself.

Draco Malfoy was about to discover this latter problem with healing in precisely two minutes and forty- three seconds.

…

Voldemort was killed by his own rebounding curse.

There was a great silence, a space of time where everyone's heartbeats paused and everyone took a breath, as if preparing themselves for the onslaught of emotion to come.

And then there was a roar. A giant, ear-splitting roar, reverberating like the inside of a giant bell, screaming its way up to the heavens and declaring itself loudly to the sky. Everyone screeched and yelled and cried, because it was over, it was finally over at last, and the relief was the greatest thing that everyone had ever felt.

Draco, standing off to the side, concealed barely over the edge between "good" and "evil", felt relief, but also a numb sort of emptiness. It was over. That repeated in his head, counting the times until he actually believed it. It was over. It was over. It was over.

And because it actually was, he sank to his knees with a sob.

_It was over, _he thought.

And- _what are they going to do to me now?_

…

In the midst of the chaos, Draco spotted his father.

His mother, he knew, was over by the teachers of Hogwarts, with her familiar commanding air only barely weakened by Voldemort's grasp. She had jumped right into the middle, healing and helping. If she hadn't been a Pureblood debutante, married off to his father, he suspected she would have been a healer.

Narcissa had coped the only way she knew how, throwing herself into the middle to save her family like she always had. That was another thing about his mother- in the middle of the Pureblood ideals she had always loved her family.

But it was his father who distracted him now.

His father had his wand out.

His wand was pointed at the back of an unsuspecting someone.

Twenty-six seconds left-

That someone was Hermione Granger.

…

In the middle of all the happiness, there was one more bolt of green light.

Draco didn't know where it came from, didn't know how he opened his mouth or why he was saying the words, all he knew that if he didn't say it, his father would.

"Avada… Kedavra". The words sprang from his mouth and burned his tongue, racing towards his father. They tasted like poison.

The words struck the man who had raised him, had rocked him on his lap once when he was very small, then never again.

Draco couldn't call the curse back.

Lucius Malfoy crumpled to the floor, and Draco thought suddenly that Harry and he were exactly the same- caught in a moment, transfixed to the floor, with the stunned air of reality that _they had killed someone,_ right now, and there was no going back.

…

Hermione Granger didn't even notice Lucius hit the floor.

Later, though, she would stop beside his body, kneel to check his pulse, and then look up at Draco with sad, sad eyes, burning with _sorry_s and _I wish this never happened_ and _are you okay?_

Draco couldn't meet her eyes after that. He was afraid that she'd see them and know, somehow, that he'd killed his own parent.

He would think the act was vaguely heroic, if he knew that he was definitely not a hero.

…

Narcissa would look at the body of her husband, and her lip would tremble, but she would bite down on it fiercely because she knew that this was a new life being offered up in the form of a dead man.

And she would accept it, because wasn't that what everyone was doing?

…

Twenty-five minutes exactly after Lucius hit the floor, Draco had the strangest conversation he would ever remember having in his life.

Harry Potter was standing right in front of him, and he met his eyes.

Draco said three words, first.

"Thanks."  
>and "I'm sorry."<p>

For what exactly, he didn't know. Everything, he supposed.

For Harry, that seemed to be enough.

The conversation hadn't really started yet, but it was getting abnormal anyways, when Harry freaking Potter held out his hand.

Draco took it, shook it, and Harry pulled him to his feet. The green eyes were not accusatory, or hateful, just curious and a little sad.

"You alright, Malfoy?"

And that was The Saint Who Lived To Get Touchy-Feely About Emotions. Draco briefly considered a sarcastic comment or a witty reply, but somehow he didn't feel up to it. It had the same sort of feeling as bashing your head against a wall.

"I'll be fine." He hoped.

Harry nodded, and it was left to Draco to ask one question that he never thought he'd ask.

"Are you okay. Potter." It turned out more like a statement, but never let it be said that Draco was going to start talking about his _feelings._

Harry flipped some hair out of his grimy face, and said the statement which Draco would get the full implications of about thirty minutes after that.

"It's hard to kill someone else, even if you know that that someone was just plain wrong. You know."

A redhead called Harry back over to them, and he clapped Draco on the shoulder-like a comrade, like a friend- and headed back to the adoring crowd.

…

Thirty minutes later.

"_You know."_

Potter _SAW?_

Draco stopped in the middle of the Great Hall, shocked.

Turned to find Potter in the crowd.

Who nodded, and turned back to his friends.

_You know._

…

**A/N **

**So, what do you guys think? This is going to be a multichap fic- not sure how many, however long it takes the story to play out- and I know that there isn't much romance in the first chapter, but trust me, it will be a Dramione.**

**I would like at least one review before I post the next chapter- but I will start writing it RIGHT NOW, I promise. **

**Thank you so much for even reading. I appreciate.**

**-Isefyr**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two- Rulings**

Draco turned over in the dark.

Darkness was superfluous; it couldn't help him sleep or close his eyes. It couldn't keep him from waking to a flash of green light. It couldn't guard his back or stop the _feelings_ from roaring in like a tide. But it helped a little bit.

It made his mother believe that he was asleep.

Today he had a slightly different reason to stay awake than the usual parade of thoughts nagging at his consciousness.

Besides juggling the now familiar issues of his… recently deceased… father, _why_ his father was deceased, Harry Potter _knowing_ why his father was deceased, and what to do with his life, he had a trial to attend tomorrow.

As did his mother.

He figured his mother would get off relatively scot-free; after all she didn't let everyone know that The Boy Who Lived had lived for a second time. And she had jumped into the healing with gusto. That made her just about safe in everyone's eyes.

But… he might be in a bit of trouble. He didn't know.

He rolled over again, pressing his face into the pillow and holding his breath. Idly he wondered how long he could hold his breath for, and how long it would take him to let go of this world.

He considered it, and then he flopped onto his side again. Death by pillow wasn't exactly how he wanted to go.

Death by dementor wasn't looking too great, either.

…

He woke up from not sleeping and rolled off the edge of the bed, too lethargic to get any further.

Every step he walked was closer to the Ministry.

That's where Narcissa found him, on the floor.

She sat next to him in her black dress and stroked his hair.

"I know, Draco, I know. It'll all be over soon."

He turned to face her, and she dripped a tear onto his cheek, cradling his head in her lap.

"We'll have closure. It'll all be over soon."

This was what mothers were for, he thought, and it broke his heart because he didn't know what to do as a son.

…

Dressed up in his finest robes, and early- never let it be said that a Malfoy was anything less than perfect in the social graces- he arrived at the Ministry, his mother on his arm.

Except it was more like she was supporting him, tethering him to the earth.

_It'll all be over soon._

…

After his mother had gotten through, icy calm and beautifully poised as always, it was his turn.

"Witnesses for the defense?" was called, and he readied himself to accept that there would be nobody there for him. His hand unconsciously went to his Dark Mark, burned to his skin under his robes, and he clenched that wrist as if he could squish the Mark out of existence.

And then, just as with his mother, some of the already cleared Purebloods- Zabini, Parkinson- stepped forward. He looked up at them with haunted eyes, wondering why they stood up for him if he didn't belong any more.

…

And then Potter stood for him.

…

And then Hermione-not Granger, just Hermione- stood.

He almost couldn't look her in the eyes.

…

To his great surprise, Ronald Weasley joined his counterparts of the Golden Trio.

He testified, "Malfoy could be a decent sort of bloke, I guess, if he tried."

…

After that, the support astounded him.

He may have killed his father, but they didn't know, and they didn't want him to go.

For some reason, that more than anything made him ready and wanting to say goodbye.

…

Everyone filed out of the courtroom, after declaring him innocent, though on probation. He met Potter's eyes, green into grey, and nodded at him.

It wasn't a curt sort of nod, or a harsh one, just a nod.

It just was.

Hermione actually came up to him and congratulated him, quietly, as if he didn't have anything to be sorry for and wasn't it great that everyone knew?

She didn't say much, but he decided as he looked into her eyes that it was absolutely everything.

And that scared him, because it was another thing that he didn't know why.

…

He got home, ripped off his dress robes and threw them blindly at his bed. Then, naked before the world- as if he wasn't already- he stalked into his bathroom and eventually into his bath.

The hot water managed to act as some sort of a relaxant; he supposed, so he didn't _feel_ all the tension, all the pressure, all the time.

For example, everyone had always expected him to be a bad person all the time, so that's what he was. He thought. Now that he had this probation, and everyone thought he was good, he felt lost. Very lost.

He spoke this aloud to the ceiling tiles, imagining that someone was actually there to hear him.

Maybe in the future, there would be?

…

Hermione Granger sent him a letter.

It was so typical Gryffindor good-girl of her that he almost laughed.

…

_Malfoy, _

_I'm sorry for your loss.  
>I'm sorry for everyone's losses, actually, which is why I'm writing this when we haven't done too much more than insult each other for the past seven years. <em>

_But I thought that maybe you needed a friend right now.  
>It's up to you, of course. <em>

_Owl me. _

_Hermione Granger._

…

He held the parchment in his hand and wondered why she had judged him again, and why nobody had found him wanting yet.

It was strange, like being confronted with an image of himself that he didn't know existed, or a part of himself that he'd hidden under a rug or in the couch cushions.

He didn't know if he could join that group after everything had happened, though, at least not right away. He was still adjusting to his father being gone, and still adjusting to being… what would he call himself now? A murderer? A protector?

So that's what he wrote back to her. Minus the killing his father part.

…

The next day he went down to the kitchen of the Manor, and watched the house-elves.

There was a curious rhythmic quality to the way they worked, as if they all knew exactly where they were going, all the steps, all the little things to make it perfect, rhythmic, seamless.

He didn't know why he was watching, but he was conscious of the fact that it was something he had never done before.

And if he smiled at the house-elves once in a while, it wouldn't hurt, right?

Maybe it was at that moment that he realized-_he_ was the master of the Manor now.

…

There were so many different things he was becoming, and it was hard to keep track of them all.

He stared at a mirror and wondered which facet of Draco he was seeing, or if there was even a Draco at all.

…

**A/N: **

**See, I posted the second chapter today because I'm SO EXCITED!**

**I hope it's not going too fast.**

**Hey, three reviews are three reviews, and considering that it's the middle of the school day, I'm pretty pleased. Of course, if more people review, that's good too, but I'm soo happy!**

**So thanks to my reviewers Gina619, ViralAnomaly, and narutogirl103 for reviewing, and I'm very glad you're happy with it thus far. **

**Also thanks to those who added this to their watch list!**

**-Isefyr**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three- Limbo**

Draco was suspended in time. Nothing he did now would have any meaning, because he wasn't going anywhere with it anyway.

He idly moved his fingers against his covers, thinking about how he wouldn't even know that he had fingers if it weren't for the cloth.

After a while, the Slytherin colours sickened him, and he turned his head away, disgusted.

He didn't want to face the world, but he didn't want to face his bedroom, either.

…

Later, he broke the mirror.

…

It was a good thing that nobody cared about him, or they would be making him get out of bed and get dressed.

…

He wondered where his mother was, what she was doing and whether she was mourning his father. If she was, he didn't want to see her until she was back to normal attire and not black.

Then he would really know that his father was gone...

...And he would really know that it was his fault and only his fault.

…

Sometime during his day, after seconds after seconds after seconds ticked by, someone banged on his door, locked out of habit from the days that he had a snake-nosed villain living in his house.

"MALFOY!" someone bellowed outside his door.

He buried his head in the pillow, trying to block out the sound of the world telling him that it was time to come out. He wasn't ready to come out.

"Fine," someone yelled to the door.

"_Alohomora!"_

The door swung open, and he lunged out of bed for his wand. That was it. He was going to make his door spell-proof.

**...**

Someone shrieked, and he remembered that he wasn't wearing any clothing as the cool air from the door washed over him.

…

"_Malfoy!" _Someone said again, and he registered finally that the person standing in his doorway was Hermione, who was doing her best not to look at him standing naked in his bedroom.

"What are you doing here, Granger? Couldn't resist the urge to see me?"

"Something like that. Put some clothes on, for Merlin's sake!"

"But I'm quite comfortable," he smirked.

"Malfoy, I swear I will hex your balls off if you don't put something on. Right. Now."

…

It would occur to him later that he had acted like nothing had changed since Hogwarts.

Was something _wrong _with him?

…

It turned out that Narcissa had, in fact, been mourning, but she wasn't so upset that she couldn't call in the cavalry to drag her son out of bed.

Malfoys, of course, do not mope. They are above common, mundane emotions and thus have no need for common, mundane reactions to emotion, such as moping.

This was news to Draco.

…

Hermione was a Gryffindor, caring, brave and brilliant, and so somehow she got stuck with the job of pulling Draco out of bed.

The logic didn't make sense to him, but he supposed that it had worked, because he was now sitting in his sitting room with his mother and Hermione Granger, drinking tea and trying to be polite.

Mostly he just stared into his teacup and wished that it was firewhiskey instead of tea.

…

He snapped when they started talking about Hogwarts and how they were given the option to take their NEWTS in September.

"What are you doing here?" he snapped at Hermione.

Before she could say anything, he continued on. "I tormented you in school. I haven't done very nice things and I'm not a very nice person. What right do you have to forgive me? What right does anyone have?"

He left the room before she could say a word, because he was sure she would have a lot of them, but he just couldn't put up with them right now.

…

_Malfoy, _

_Doesn't the little mudblood have the most right of all?_

_-Hermione._

…

He threw the note in the fire.

…

_Don't call yourself that. _

-_Draco Abraxas Malfoy_

…

_I'm not the forgivable person you seem to think I am,_ he almost wrote.

That got thrown in the fire as well.

Last thing he needed was Hermione visiting his house again.

…

Draco wasn't having much luck with uninvited visitors to his bedroom today.

His mother came in and tried to be understanding, which he just couldn't handle right now. Understanding people would be the death of him. He resorted to being sullen and defensive.

"Is there something you want to talk about?" Narcissa smoothed out his covers and sat gracefully. "I know… we haven't talked much over the years because… well, that's over now."

Draco kept his mouth shut.

"Are you going to be alright?" she asked quietly.

He didn't know and he couldn't say, so he simply pulled her into a hug.

…

After a week, he figured it was safe to leave his room.

He had no intention of leaving the manor, but he had to get away from his room.

There was that sense- a sense of being stifled by his own life, a sense that he couldn't get away from the things that he wanted to get away from and move on. It was something that he didn't seem to be able to do, and it frustrated him.

He lay on his back on the steel-grey couch in one of the libraries and ceased to exist except for his ribs and spine against the cushions. That was the only thing he was conscious of.

There was a knock on the door, and he was conscious of his head now, because it started to hurt.

…

"What does this look like, Gryffindor Tower?" Draco said, but there wasn't really any venom behind it.

_You are a pathetic Slytherin,_ he thought.

"No," said Potter. "It looks like the home of a sorry little ferret."

He didn't have enough willpower left to reply to that.

…

"I'm not sharing my opinions with you. I'm not a Gryffindor. I don't get touchy-feely about private stuff."

…

"Malfoy, you do realize that you're just letting life happen to you?"

…

"I take it back. You're not letting anything happen to you."

…

"I thought you were braver than that."

…

Draco stood, and he realized that he was taller than Potter, even though he seemed smaller somehow.

"I am not brave," he hissed. "I am not a hero. I am not a Gryffindor. I am a _bad guy,_ remember? I did terrible, awful things just because the Dark Lord told me to and I was too much of a pansy to do anything but nod and say 'yes, My Lord.' Don't you dare think you know anything about me. You never knew anything about me."

And he pulled up his sleeve and shoved his Dark Mark in Potter's face.

…

Potter just looked at him.

"I'm going to leave you alone for now, Malfoy. You're not going to get anywhere if you're just feeling sorry for yourself."

"But," he added as he walked out the door, "you can't feel sorry for yourself forever."

…

There's an interesting thought.

…

**A/N: **

**So, one review but no big, I like this story so much that it's going to get updated as often as possible. Malfoy is so fun to write- he is actually a really complex character if you think about it. So much human nature to write about :P**

**Thanks to ViralAnomaly for reviewing again :) **

**And I hope you continue to read and enjoy! Tell me what you think if you want. This is my first multichap so I would like an opinion whether I'm going too slow or what, what you want to see happen, etc. **

**But you don't have to! just enjoy!**

**-Isefyr**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four: Open**

Draco Malfoy stayed in bed for another day, just to convince himself that he wasn't leaving the house because some nosy Gryffindors tried to get him out.

They didn't have one up on him. They had just come into his house, blundered around like the loud and interfering celebrities they were, and stirred up his thinking.

He told himself he was leaving the house to get away from the memory of them there, and not because they had said so.

…

He wandered around, the thin barrier of his expensive silk robes the only thing keeping him from being recognized. He kept the hood up, and since the wind was blowing, most people didn't notice him at all.

…

He had never been a loud person, by nature. He had always been, on the inside, quiet and careful and afraid. The inner, hiding Draco was just someone who was scared and didn't know what to do.

…**.**

All the people blew past him on with their silly little lives, and Draco wondered what it was like to live life on the surface of things, not really looking inwards and not really caring, just having a good job and a good family and knowing that it was good enough.

The problem with Draco was that he didn't live on the surface. He lived deep down, in a dark little cave in a dark little hole in his dark little heart, and didn't know what to do on the outside. 

The surface was an interesting place, and Draco wondered if it was possible to live aware with the surface and aware of oneself at the same time.

It was a thought that gave him hope, like he'd been swimming underwater for too long and now he was beginning to see the light breaking through the surface.

…

He walked into Flourish and Blotts and breathed in the smell of old paper and ink.

Before a saleswizard could find him, he headed up the stairs to a remote corner, to hide out in the bookshop amongst the words, where he could ask questions to things and they would give him the answers.

Sitting down with a muffled thump on the floor next to a shelf, ignoring the possible damage to his clothing, he pulled a book from the shelf and immersed himself in yet another escape from the world of the living.

…

His life was full of escapes.

A book was an escape into another land, a place where things happened to people other than him. Other people were the villains. Other people loved and laughed and _lived,_ and other people killed.

He wondered if this was why you could always find Hermione Granger in the library with a book, back at their school days.

Maybe for her, facts were an escape too.

**...**

He found a book he'd never seen before, and started to read.

It must have been a muggle book, because it didn't have any magic in it. But as Draco read on, he discovered that it was just as interesting as any wizarding book he'd ever read.

It was called _The Fountainhead_, and it was about a man called Howard Roark.

…

Howard Roark was an architect, which was what muggles called those who designed and created buildings.

But he fascinated Draco, because Howard Roark wasn't afraid of anything.

He knew what he wanted to do, and he went after it.

What was that like?

Draco found himself in awe that a muggle could be so strong, and he imagined that they must have been made of sterner stuff than he was.

…

The book came home with him, that day.

For a while, it brought a sense of peace.

…

He went back to Flourish and Blotts, reading more and more muggle literature that appeared on the shelves, as well as any wizarding book he found interesting. Potions, mostly. He _had_ always been good at that.

The old woman who ran the store pretended not to notice when he came around, but she always did.

Eventually, a cushion found its way onto the floor where he always sat.

…

Going to Flourish and Blotts became a routine, and he was startled to discover how _normal_ he felt.

He didn't go back for a week after that. His father was dead. He shouldn't be feeling _normal._

…

But he couldn't stay away for long.

…

One day, Draco found himself on the floor in Flourish and Blotts, head pillowed on the cushion that had appeared. There was an open Potions text splayed across his chest, and he stared up at the plastered ceiling and thought whatever came into his head.

He distantly heard someone come into the shop and cheerily start talking to the old woman behind the desk, but he was ensconced in figuring out the mysteries in the ceiling and didn't pay any attention.

Until Granger tripped over him.

Was she _following_ him or something?

…

"Malfoy!"

Silence.

"Well, this is a surprise. You actually left your Manor."

Silence.

"Aren't you going to say hello?"

"Hello," he said to the ceiling.

He felt perfectly justified in saying hello to the ceiling. It had shared some interesting revelations with him, lying here.

Saying hello to Hermione was a different matter.

Thankfully- or maybe not so much- she mistook his "Hello" for her.

…

"What are you reading?"

"Potions book."

"Who's it by?"

"Claudia Windfeld."

"Is it good?"

"Sure."

"Malfoy, you haven't said a word to me that isn't in response to a direct question."

"I know."

…

"So, what's the matter with talking to me anyways?"

…

Draco thought about that for a minute. He was having trouble coming up with a direct answer. He couldn't come up with one.

"I think that's the wrong question to ask."

…

Hermione considered that for a while.

"So, then. Why are you afraid of me?"

…

He sat bolt upright, abandoning his conversation with the ceiling.

"Who said I was afraid of _you_?"

…

Hermione just looked at him, and that was enough of an answer.

…

He lay back down, so that he didn't have to look her in the eye.

"I'm not someone you should be forgiving," He said. The words fell from his lips and hit his chest with a thud.

"I have done things that nobody can be forgiven for, no matter why they did them. It's just not right, and neither am I."

The words joined the heavy pile on his chest, so that he felt like they were suffocating him.

"And here you are, the Gryffindor Princess, pretending things are all just peachy and pretending like I'm someone you can talk to, someone you can spend time with."

And the words spilled off his chest, pooling on the floor.

It was too much effort. He closed his lips and his eyes, willing her to go away.

…

"Malfoy, why do you hate yourself so much?" She said, and her voice was full of wonder.

…

He squeezed his eyes closed, and hoped that she would please go away before he told someone his dark secret. Least of all her.

She might actually think that it was _noble_, or something.

…

"Hmm…" She mused aloud.

Still there, then.

He opened his eyes and looked at her, and she was studying him with a practiced eye. If he hadn't known better, he could have sworn she was checking him out.

But he definitely knew better. More likely, she could see something wrong with him.

"What?" He asked irritably.

"You didn't answer my question."

"I don't know how it can be answered."

"Think about it, then." Hermione said, and sat cross-legged on the floor next to him to wait.

…

He closed his eyes again. One, two, three, disappear!

When he opened them, she was still there, still looking at him expectantly, so he shut them quickly. Maybe she wouldn't have noticed.

"Well?"

…

"Don't rush me," he said finally. "When I figure it out, I'll owl you, okay?"

In pureblood society, this was an obvious dismissal. But the Brightest Witch of Their Age was not a pureblood, and so she continued to sit there with an amusedly tolerant expression on her face.

"You'd better," she said, and finally stood. "I'd invite you out for tea, but I imagine that I've tested your patience enough, am I right?"

"Just because I'm talking to you doesn't make you my friend, Granger," He snapped.

A moment.

"Exactly." A smirk.

…

The next morning, Draco woke up and he was calm.

So calm, in fact, that he freaked out, ran to the mirror, and checked that he was still _him_ before accepting it and falling back into bed.

Calm?

_Really?_

…

In the afternoon, after re-reading _The Fountainhead,_ he figured something out.

Unfortunately, this meant that he was going to have to man up and send Hermione an owl.

He wondered if he had time to move out of the country first.

**A/N**

**Sorry it's been a little while, guys, but I had a stupid math portfolio to finish, and so forth. **

**I have forgotten to put disclaimers in so far, so I am doing it right now. Obviously, the _Harry Potter _books don't belong to me, or I wouldn't be writing _fan_fiction. **

**_The Fountainhead_ and Roark belong to Ayn Rand. **

**Thanks for Gina619 and ViralAnomaly for reviewing again! I'm glad to have your feedback. I have decided to post longer chapters at a time, so that while the pacing is similar you don't have too many chapters of Draco just being apathetic. Thank you very much for your support, it is appreciated!**

**Also thanks to those who have my story on Alert. :) **

**Alright, on with the Dramione! It's definitely going to pick up more in the next chapter, which is going to be a surprise- different. **

**And I will have that chapter posted by the end of the weekend, I promise. **

**-Isefyr.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five: Verse**

_Dear me,_

I'm not going to send an owl to Hermione.

I'm not going to send it because I'm a coward, and I'm not going to send it because that will be like admitting she's right.

Even if she is, it's not fair to boost up a person's ego like that. If you tell someone that they're great all the time, and they have to live up to standards, there's going to be a day where they discover that that's not true.

For seventeen years- almost eighteen, now- I have not known who I am.

…

_Dear me,_

I knew who I was the moment I killed my father: a murderer. Someone who cannot be excused for the things that they have done.

Somehow, the world excused me. It doesn't make me have very much faith in the world.

**...**

_Dear me,_

I am also the kind of person who lays on the floor of a dusty bookstore and contemplates the ceiling.

Is that the act of a murderer, or of someone who doesn't know how to exist?

…

_Dear me,_

I have always been afraid.

I don't know if that's an excuse, or if people should be excused for being who they are just because they've had trauma or a horrible upbringing, but it's something to take note of.

How would you have turned out, if you had your parents-

Your father-

Rubbing your face in how you should act every time you turned around?

"Malfoys are the purest of the pure."

"We are above everyone else."

"Walk when I tell you to, say what I want you to, and be what I know you should be."

…

_Dear me,_

Why did I kill my father?

…**.**

Maybe the answer to that question is so complex that I don't even know what the simplest answer is.

…

_Dear Hermione,_

…

_Granger,_

…

_Insufferable know-it all,_

…

_To Miss Hermione Jean Granger,_

With regret we inform you that Draco Abraxas Malfoy, the former resident of Malfoy Manor, has passed away at the age of 17 due to a strain of Unicorn Virus. We are informing you of this because, before he died, Mr. Malfoy indicated that he was owing to you an answer to a personal question. Being dead, Mr. Malfoy has no answer to give.

Thank you for your time,

_Confiscate & Conquer law firms._

…

_Malfoy,_

Nice try.

_Hermione Granger_

…

_To Miss Hermione Jean Granger,_

Mr. Malfoy is unable to reply to you at this time, because Mr. Malfoy is dead.

Please do not bother us with more letters.

_Confiscate & Conquer law firms._

…

_Malfoy,_

You forgot that I am a war hero working in the ministry, and the ministry keeps records of:

a) all wizarding companies and corporations

b) strains of all viruses, even rumored ones, and

c) when people die.

Come up with a better excuse yet?

_Hermione Granger_

…

_To the most insufferable know it all ever to walk the face of the Earth,_

Fine. Perhaps I'm dead of fright, due to your scary amount of hair and your Gryffindor propensity to want to talk about your _feelings._

_Draco Malfoy_

…

_Malfoy,_

Please, I thought you were a _man._ Are you ever going to answer my question or are you going to hide from me 'cause the poor little ferret is afraid of the big bad Gryffindor?  
>Why do you hate yourself so much?<p>

_Hermione Granger_

…

_Buck-toothed and bushy-haired,_

I AM a man, and I don't need to prove it to you. Ask any number of the girls from Hogwarts.  
>Maybe I have good reasons to not like myself.<p>

_Draco Malfoy_

…

_Ferret,_

Trying to insult me is not going to get me off your case.  
>Are you going to tell me or not? What makes you such an awful person?<br>Really, I don't see why you think you're so horrible.

_Hermione Granger_

…

_Granger,_

Fine, I'll ask nicely. Will you please leave me alone?  
>You don't get it, do you? No matter how many times it's shoved down your throat, you don't seem to understand that I'm the bad guy. I was the Dark Lord's puppet. I stood by while they murdered people, and… I haven't done things to be proud of, alright? Maybe this is my repentance for everything I've ever done. And maybe you and the world should understand that me not being in it is the best possible thing for all of you.<p>

Bugger off, won't you?

_Draco Malfoy._

…

_Malfoy,_

You're being a total bloody idiot.  
>You're getting all mired in unnecessary guilt and regret and you can only live if you <em>don't<em> let those things weigh on you. You should be strong person, despite your Slytherin tendencies. You have lived through things that some people can only shudder in horror at the thought of, and you've survived. You are strong, even if you don't believe in it.  
>Dwelling on stuff makes life worse.<p>

Give me one good reason, just one, that you can't open up to people.  
>Give me one good reason that you have to not move on from this.<br>Give me one good reason to stay like this, not living and not dying, just existing, nothing more- what good reason do you have to do this forever?

The answer is: there is no good reason.

Really, Malfoy? You're nowhere near a bad guy. You're just confused.  
>And guess what? There are all kinds of wizards and witches in this world, and if you'd quit hating on yourself and look, you'd find people you can relate to, and open up to.<p>

Like me, for example.

_Hermione Granger_

…

_Malfoy?_

…

_**MALFOY,**_

You'd better bloody respond to that letter or I might show up at your Manor again. And this time, I won't leave until I get a response.

_Hermione Granger_

…

_Granger,_

Since I find myself under extreme threat, I will grace you with a response.  
>Being a total bloody idiot or not, that doesn't mean I'm stupid enough to go out into the world, tell everyone all of my secrets, and expect them not to judge me.<p>

There, that's one reason that I can't and won't open up to people. They will judge me. Then they'll decide, as a mob, how to treat me from there, and it will be reflected in every facet of my life.

And the reason I have not to move on? If you did something terrible, and you weren't sure why you did it or if it was justified, then would you be able to move on from it- just like that?

And how, then, am I supposed to relate to you? You've never had to anything like I have. I guarantee it.

_Draco Malfoy_

…

_Malfoy,_

What's this thing that you did that is so awful, then? I bet you're blowing it way out of proportion.

And not all the awful things in the world happened to you.  
>For example, not that I expect you to react like you care or have feelings that extend beyond yourself, but- for example.<br>I can't find my parents. They were in Australia, and I tried to make them safe, but it looks like Voldemort caught up with them anyways.  
>We have more in common than you think. I've lost family, just like you.<p>

_Hermione Granger_

…

_Hermione,_

I'm sorry for your loss, and I mean it. I'm so sorry.  
>I wish it never had to happen.<br>But I'm still not going to tell you.

_Draco Malfoy_

…

_Draco,_

You called me Hermione. I think you might actually be sorry.  
>What a surprise.<br>Thank you.

You're not going to tell me? 

_Hermione._

…

_**Hermione,**_

No.

_Draco._

…

**A/N:**

**So, there you go. That was the "different" thing for chapter 5: writing letters. I'm thinking that I might do this every 5 chapters, and eventually there will be letters involving Harry and other people in Draco's life as well. Let me hear your thoughts on it. **

**Anyways, I promised this by the end of the weekend and here it is!**

**And thank you to Fulgance- with your incredibly detailed reviews, it made me smile so much, thanks- and irmaida for reviewing. **

**As well to all of you who continue to add this story to your watch list!**

**So, on with their lives. I think they're getting to know each other better without losing their character. Draco will tell Hermione eventually… but it will be in person. **

**Thanks for reading!**

**-Isefyr.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six: Transparency**

…

When the worst things in your world are gone, new worse things will replace them.

Voldemort was gone, but so was Draco's father, and so were Hermione's parents, and so were countless others. Just because one nightmare is gone doesn't mean that other nightmares can't replace them. They were softer, quieter nightmares, but they hurt all the same.

…

Part of Draco's trouble, he supposed, was that he was purely thinking about his problems all the time.

_Not_ that he was going to become a sensitive, emotional, weepy Gryffindork, but talking to other people and doing other things would be a... distraction.

…

Looking in the mirror at the rings under his eyes, he knew that he needed something else in his life beside the guilt.

…

He found himself later, wandering around Diagon Alley, keeping his gaze low.

Of course, keeping his gaze low meant that he saw all the children.

Bright and cheerful, excited to be heading off to Hogwarts for the first time.

Bouncing from store to store, eyes wide and rounded, reflecting potions supplies, new books, broomsticks, wands.

He smiled, just taking in their happiness and making it his own.

…

Later, he sent an owl to Hogwarts, indicating his desire to take the NEWTS offered in September, and a request for more information.

Seeing those bright children's faces, he realized-

It was something that he actually_ wanted_ to do.

That was so miraculous in itself that he figured he'd better act on it before he changed his mind.

…

He realized later that it actually was the end of August, and he had already turned eighteen without anyone noticing.

Did that really make a difference? He felt like he was eighty-two.

…

Days or weeks or minutes or years later, Draco went back to Hogwarts.

He stood in front of it, swathed in a large black cloak, and stared up at its simultaneously imposing and welcoming façade.

He didn't even notice the people swirling by him into the doors. He was looking at Hogwarts, but seeing what wasn't there. Memories, swarming the windows, corridors, spanning the walls and stretching the towers.

Some of them were good. Most of them were terrifying.

One of them still perplexed him, and as he moved through the courtyard with the unfeeling precision of a robot, he avoided looking at that spot completely.

It was just a square of stone. It may have seen it, but nobody could tell him why he'd done it.

…

He wandered back out of the Great Hall later, after writing his Charms NEWT. He had seven or so to write, and would apparate back here every day until they were done.

There was, of course, the option to stay in his old dorms, but he didn't want to have anything to do with them.

He was wondering if that was symbolic somehow when he bumped into Weasley.

…

"Hey, mate."

The redhead's greeting was quiet, and surprisingly calm. Draco's hand had jumped to his wand as soon as he recognized the mop of red hair, but the Weasel seemed fairly relaxed.

Warily, Draco replied.

"Hello."

Weasley seemed unperturbed by the gap before Draco's response, and carried on an idle conversation.

"So, you're taking your NEWTS too? Didn't expect to see you out of the house."

It took Draco a moment to process the fact that this was not a jibe at his recently antisocial nature, but merely small talk.

He was going to have to remember how that worked.

…

Ten minutes later, Draco was still talking to Weasley- _Ron_. He wasn't sure if he enjoyed it, but it was certainly interesting. He'd learned all sorts of things about the Weasley clan, which he never would have known before.

But Weasley was currently talking about Hermione, and that was why Draco was staying as long as he had to listen.

Not that he was interested. He was merely hoping to find a way to deflect her off her path of searching his soul.

…

"Yeah, Hermione was the one who convinced me to take my NEWTS. I mean, I'm all for just jumping into a career, but she convinced me-" and here Weasley adopted a high, supposedly girlish tone- "- _Ronald, you can't just waltz into the Ministry with no qualifications! Are you insane?" _They both laughed.

"She's that stubborn, she is..." Weasley trailed off.

"I noticed," Draco said dryly, even through the sinking feeling in his stomach.

…

_Okay, casual. Just casual._

"So, Weasley, off to join your girlfriend now?"

The redhead looked perplexed. "Nah, she'd probably want to go over the exam or something. And anyways," he added, "Hermione isn't my girlfriend."

…

Draco smiled widely as Weasley walked away, for absolutely no reason at all.

…

_Absolutely no reason._

…

When everyone had left Hogwarts but for the students, Draco changed his mind.

Cautiously, he walked back into the school. Avoiding any curious eyes, he made his way up to the Room where many things were possible.

Draco stood in front of the tapestry, the dancing trolls a queer contrast to his melancholy mood.

He turned and walked away. Sometimes there is a reason to confront your demons. Other times, it is better to leave them behind you and move on.

…

Hogwarts used to be welcoming, a place of happiness and warmth.

Now, Draco mused as he apparated away, it was just a place, a building that seemed solemn and magnificent and almost sad, as if it would remember what had happened there as long as it stood.

The distant face of Hogwarts was replaced with the iron gates of the Malfoy Manor, and Draco left that place behind.

...

After the War, Draco had set up a bunch of wards that meant that the Manor was like Hogwarts- nobody could apparate in or out.

The only difference it made right now was; instead of apparating into the midst of his mother cooking with house-elves, he walked in to a glorious smell that pervaded every corner of the Manor.

Later he would wonder about Purebloods and house-elves. Right now, he thought that this must be what _home_ smells like.

…

**First of all, I must heavily apologize to the people who have perhaps been wondering where an update comes from. I never used to understand how fanfiction authors could never find time to write multichap fics… I understand now. That's the difference between knowledge and wisdom, I guess!**

**So I am so very sorry that this has been such a long time in coming, and relatively short as all my chapters are. Draco did make some progress in here, I think – small progress, little things, but they're important for the plot and I don't think that he's just going to recover like that. **

**To reward your patience I will post another chapter hopefully by the end of next week. Thanks again for waiting.**

**I do believe that there is a conspiracy, I heavily suspect that you guys might not get alerted every single time I post a chapter, but who knows.**

**ONCE AGAIN, because I keep forgetting, (even though once really must be enough) I don't own Harry Potter or Hermione or Draco or anyone. Sigh.**

**Thank you Fulgance for reviewing Chapter Five, your reviews make me smile so much! I'm glad that you liked the letters. I think this writing is a good way to show off different bits of each person's character- that way you feel like one person is coming together, rather than OOC.**

**As for Ron- I don't really think I can write an angry Ron all that well. So, I'm going to make him slightly more intelligent and emotional than the books suggested.**

**Anyways, Reviews = Love, and thanks for all your patience!**

**-Isefyr**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven: Stitches**

…

Draco's life took on a semblance of normality. His NEWTs were complete. His mother was happier than she'd ever been. The Manor was no longer dark and forbidding inside, and all of his father's things- anything to remind them of the Dark Lord, really- had been thrown out along with all the bad memories.

They were trying, they really were.

…

Unfortunately, a brush with reality was inevitable.

Because the absence of Draco's father's things meant the absence of his father, and he was all too keenly aware of the reason that his father was gone.

He saw him more in the bright, newly painted halls of the Manor than anywhere else.

…

One day, one of the house-elves got sick, and Draco healed her. He took it in stride, passing it off as an everyday occurrence.

…

One day, Draco had immersed himself in Muggle London, and was walking by when someone got hit by a car.

He had thought the muggles were safe, but no. They were just as fragile as the rest of them.

He took a ride in the ambulance with them, claiming to know the muggle, and healed him when the rest of them weren't looking.

That might have been a turning point for him. He couldn't heal himself, but he recognized that he could heal others.

…

St. Mungo's did not smell like Blood-Replenishing potion, sickness, or death.

To Draco, it smelled like hope.

He took a deep breath and walked up to the front desk, where a polished witch sat, handling patients who passed through with the ease of long practice. When it was his turn, and she said an abrupt: "you look healthy. What do _you_ want?"

"To help," he said simply.

For once, the look in someone's eyes as they recognized him as Draco Malfoy was not accusing, but amazed.

…

He couldn't help right away. There was some training involved, and he would have to return to St. Mungo's for five days a week. Two for class-work, three for doing work on the wards.

People took joy in ordering him around, at first. That arrogance vanished as his talent grew.

…

The facade of normality became tougher, more reflective, the more that he worked at St. Mungo's. As if a thousand mirrors had been wrapped around his skin, and each time someone thought they broke one, they were simply left with another mirror and seven years of bad luck.

Only Draco knew what was really happening in his mind behind the mirrors, and he kept that locked down.

Only Draco could get rid of all his mirrors. But, he reasoned to himself, breaking all his mirrors would mean 7 000 years of bad luck, and he had already had enough.

…

He passed a lot of time without seeing anyone else, anyone from his school days, anyone at all besides his mother, the house-elves (when he thought of other people, he was vaguely aware that Hermione would like that he considered the elves as people), and his patients and colleagues on the ward.

He was quiet, competent and gentle with his patients, and firmly professional with his colleagues. He had a reputation for the youngest Healer to pass the exams, and in the hospital nobody would call him a Death Eater or hiss at him.

He wasn't aware if it, but if someone did they were quickly silenced.

…

Unfortunately (as he thought) for his peace at St. Mungo's, the remaining Weasley twin was very prone to injury.

He discovered this pleasant and disruptive fact when George showed up unconscious in his ward, passed out probably due to his propensity to test the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes merchandise on himself.

Since nobody else could figure out why George was unconscious, Draco got to work. Hopefully he could finish and get out of there before the Weasley clan filled his ward with their redheaded flock.

…

Draco had terrible luck.

He had not been ten minutes finished giving George his created antidote and instructing his assistant how to continue treatment when a terrified wail rent the air.

"My son! Where is he? UNHAND ME!"

Ah, yes. The matriarch of the Weasley clan.

…

Because he was a gentleman, and had some ounce of respect for the woman who killed his least favorite aunt, he cautiously poked his head out of the ward to stop the kerfluffle.

The assistant standing in Mrs. Weasley's way was Draco's least favorite on the ward, and a bit of a dim bulb if you asked Draco.

"_Mister_ Wick, kindly unhand my patient's mother." Draco strode down the hallway and assumed the Malfoy Condescension Look, an expression reserved for loathsome cockroaches and (probably) patented by the first Malfoy. "You, not being a qualified healer, obviously do not know the rules on my ward. Also, being a certified dunderhead, you have failed to observe hospital protocol in handling relatives. Get out of my sight."

The unfortunate Mr. Wick scurried away, and Draco let his practiced Malfoy sneer drop. Sometimes he hated being such an obvious jerk, but boy was it fun when people deserved it.

…

"Draco?"

He turned to face Mrs. Weasley, and nodded.

"George is in here." He opened the door for her, keeping his eyes down. Which was too bad, really, because he missed her smile when she saw '**Healer Malfoy' **on the list of on-duty staff.

…

He contrived from then on to be unavoidably occupied during visiting hours, and if he saw a bushy brown head among all the carrot-orange ones, he could be forgiven for turning pink and striking up a conversation with the nearest patient.

…

Not as if he was _trying _to avoid her- it was just that when she saw him, she'd ask questions, and he didn't want her breaking all his mirrors when he had just built them up.

He was building an existence for himself. It wasn't a life just yet, but it was a niche where he fit and was needed.

…

Various Weasley family members came to thank him throughout the course of his days. He'd tried not to remember how stubborn Gryffindors were, but it appeared that Potter and Hermione were not the only ones who insisted on talking to him.

They didn't necessarily approve of him, of course, but they ranged from grudgingly grateful to borderline friends.

Scratch that thought. Malfoys did not become _friends_ with Weasleys.

They could, however, have long conversations with them in the hospital tea-room. That wasn't friendship, he thought. That was a business arrangement. He was gracing them with his presence, and they paid for his tea.

Right?

…

He could be happy- or at least, content- in St. Mungo's.

That was, until he remembered the battle of Hogwarts, or until he confronted the Manor again.

Sometimes he didn't feel like a murderer anymore, and other times he felt like being happy when he was a murderer was the worst thing he could possibly, ever do.

Whenever he thought about this, he checked his defenses. When he was sure that his mirrors were all in place, then he could talk to people again.

Fortunately for him, he was so good at cleaning his mirrors that nobody noticed that he wasn't real.

…

George finally was cleared to go, and Draco let him off with a warning.

"Careful what you test, alright? It's not that what you're testing is harmful in itself, but that it might react badly with any potion ingredients that are still in your body. Some of them stay much longer than you would expect, and I would prefer not to have to see another Weasley for the rest of my life," he smirked.

George knew he didn't mean it, and thanked Draco with a grin.

…

The Weasleys had taken to him surprisingly well over the course of George's stay in the Hospital. Mrs. Weasley slipped right into her typical mothering role. The Weaselette- _Ginny_, got along with him rather well. Ron was surprisingly amicable, something Draco would never have expected from him.

And he got along astoundingly well with George. Normally, he would have passed it off as his normal Healer-patient rapport, but he thought it went a little deeper than that.

George hadn't killed his twin, but when Fred died he'd lost a part of himself in a way that Draco was missing a part of as well.

…

When George was discharged, Draco felt a little lost, for some reason.

Heaven forbid it was because he was _missing_ those blasted Weasleys.

…

**A/N: **

**After being a very bad writer and not updating forever, my peace offering is a chapter that is a bit meatier on the plot line and makes Draco happier. *shame* Ah well, as soon as school ends I'll be able to update more, since all my teachers have finally noticed that it's the end of the year and dumped a load of work on us all at once.**

**Excuses, excuses. Sorry, guys. **

**I don't always like stories which are Weasley-bashing, so this one isn't going to have that in it. I may not like Romione, but I think that Ron, given a chance could man up and extend the proverbial olive branch. This story is more about Draco and his personality and his life, anyways. **

**Thanks to Highland Bride for reviewing this chapter, and thanks to all of you who have favorited my story and added me to your author list :)**

**I hope you continue to enjoy my story! **

**-Isefyr**

**P.S. Since I keep forgetting a disclaimer for each chapter… I am not J K Rowling. And will not ever be. Which means that I do not own Draco. How sad….**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight: Disinclination**

You can't prescribe medicine to yourself. The simple reason is, you don't know what's good for you, no matter if you've prescribed the same thing to people in the same situation millions upon millions of times.

The same goes for advice. You can tell a person that they need to get some courage and talk to the person they like. You can tell a person that they need to talk to someone about what's troubling them. You can tell a person that they don't have to take themselves so seriously all of the time.

However, you won't listen to the same advice.

…

Draco was tired. Bone-weary, exhausted. He was so tired that the only thing that he could think of was how tired he was, until he reached his bed. Dreamless sleep would ensue, and then he'd head off to work to tire himself out again.

The thing was, he didn't have to think when he was tired. Being exhausted made the most mundane of tasks a Herculean effort, and then the most mundane of tasks suddenly became the centre of his world.

And then he didn't have to think about the Weasleys, Hermione, or his father. He didn't have to think about missing people, or obsessing over them, or the past.

All he had to do was keep his eyes open.

…

One day, he decided to admit that he missed George Weasley.

This was far less offensive than, say, missing Weasel or Potter, so he felt he could admit to it and still remain relatively secure in his Malfoy-ness.

In the middle of his workday, he turned to an aide and said in a quiet voice- he always spoke in a quiet voice, now – "I'm going to take the rest of the day off."

Considering that Draco worked every day of the week from opening till closing, the aide could only mutter "about time".

…

The bright, orange-and-purple front of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes seemed to Draco to be a tad superfluous. It was very clear that they were doing good business regardless: the shop was packed.

With an expression on his face that could only be described as a smile, Draco plunged into the fray.

…

Two hours, ten galleons, and one storewide, massive trick wand fight later; the smile was still there. Draco was sprawled across a lurid green-and-pink couch, examining the toy octopus that his wand had turned into. It really was remarkable how amusing these things were.

A carrot-orange head came between him and the light he was examining the octopus by.

"To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

Draco squinted at George's face. Surprisingly, he did not seem in the least perplexed that there was a Malfoy relaxed on his couch.

"Hey, Weasley."

Yes, that was definitely the right degree of casual. Draco applauded himself for his social skills.

…

Due to circumstances he could not understand and a conversation carried out mostly by George, Draco found himself sitting in a little café on a muggle street, having lunch with him. This wouldn't have been surprising or discomforting in itself… but then Hermione showed up.

"I sort of invited a couple people," George said cheerfully. "I hope you don't mind."

Well, he supposed he could put up with Hermione for a lunchtime.

But he definitely wasn't going to make this a habit.

…

Draco had forgotten the unfortunate propensity of Weasleys to breed like rabbits until so many people showed up that they had to pull together three tables.

He didn't even _know_ some of these people. He wondered what they were all doing here.

Merlin, was that Potter in the corner?

…

Eventually, George pried him away from his coffee mug and shoved him into the great, wide world of socializing.

Now, Malfoys are known for their social skills. They have faultless manners. They host the most spectacular and elegant parties. They dress superlatively and, in high society, are the epitomes of sophistication.

Eighteen years of being a Malfoy, and Draco's poise went out the window as he was thrown into the sea of Gryffindors.

…

Heaven forbid that Weasel- _RON_ – would make Draco laugh.

Heaven forbid that Potter was actually being civil, rather than nosy.

Heaven forbid that Molly Weasley extends an invitation to Draco to have dinner at the Burrow "whenever he pleased".

Heaven forbid that he was actually having _fun_ debating potion ingredients with Hermione and watching her animated hands and bright eyes.

Draco checked out the window. He was absolutely positive that somewhere, somehow, pigs were learning to fly.

…

Eventually, George Weasley called everyone's attention and stood on a table.

"So I imagine that some of you are wondering why we're here. Though most of you may be worried, rest assured that I'm not testing any new products on you… yet."

Chuckles.

This was sounding suspiciously similar to a toast. Draco eyed the nearest table and wondered if anyone would notice if he flung himself under it and army-crawled out of the café.

"I don't think he likes much attention, so that's why I'm going to make this speech as long and uncomfortable as possible," George winked.

More laughter. Draco could just _feel _his cheeks heating up.

…

Finally, George got to the point. "Anyways…. May the world be backwards, but one of these days I hope to call Draco Malfoy my friend."

There wasn't any laughter this time.

…

_Friend._ The word was strange, and enticing, and just a little bit dangerous. Friends meant that you shared secrets and experiences, and trusted someone.

As far as Draco knew, anyways.

People were back to talking again, and Draco knew that they might not accept him yet, but that they were on their way there.

"I think Dumbledore would be proud," came a voice from next to him. Hermione was sprawled languidly across a chair, head tilted back, eyes half-closed.

Draco looked a little closer, at the pale length of her neck and her hair cascading in bushy waves down the back of the chair, and thought he knew exactly what she meant.

"Inter-house unity was always what he was going for," she continued, and he still didn't know how he was going to respond.

…

Fortunately, most of the Malfoy fortune remained, so Draco was able to _donate_ a substantial amount of money to persuade the café to remain open exclusively for this group.

He supposed that the reason that he could spend so much time here, surrounded by red hair and smiling faces, is because he couldn't see his father anywhere in the crowd.

…

It was late when he got home to the Manor. Narcissa didn't ask, just let him sleep.

But she smiled at his back when he wasn't looking. Perhaps he would be able to move on after all.

…

**A/N:**

**Hello, my pretties. It's summer and hopefully I'll be able to get this fic rolling!**

**The Dramione is… getting there. I need to figure out a way to have Hermione and Draco spend more time together, and it'll take a turn for the worse before it gets better, but right now Draco's life is looking up. **

**This is another, lighter chapter, but I'm pretty happy with it. If you would review it, that would make my day **

**Fulgance- I know, I have a suspicion it doesn't let you know every chapter. But thanks for reviewing both 6 & 7 anyways! I think Draco's wariness is melting… kind of. But that's because he's been engulfed by the Weasleys! Do you think it's plausible, or going too fast? Let me know. And thanks so much for reviewing; I love all the feedback you give me. **

**And here's a question I thought of, if people want input- do you think Draco should go to a Weasley dinner? xD.**

**I hope you're enjoying thus far. OH yeah… and I am not JK Rowling. **

**-Isefyr**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine: Ineptitude**

Draco stood in the doorway of a ramshackle, teetering house that looked as if it were going to fall over any second. It wasn't the Manor, but it had a sort of welcoming friendliness around it that the marble behemoth could not convey.

He hesitated. Knocking on the door seemed like a giant leap into waters previously unknown.

Unfortunately, before he could turn around and send them an owl saying he was sick, an elegantly pale hand flashed by his nose and rapped lightly on the door.

"Mother," he said in exasperation.

"Well, do you want to go in or not?"

…

Yes, Draco Malfoy had brought his mother to protect him. Once he had woken up and remembered that he'd agreed – been coerced - into having a family dinner with the Weasleys, he had panicked.

There was no way he was going into that household without someone to protect him from their overwhelming _Gryffindorness._

So he'd owled Mrs. Weasley and asked if she would mind if he brought his mother along.

To his immense surprise, she had accepted.

…

So there he was, walking into a dangerous, intimidating, _delicious-smelling_ lair of kind-hearted redheads.

Scary, right?

…

Surprisingly, the redheads weren't the only ones in the room.

Draco spotted a tousled head of black hair, very close to the weaselette's shining red locks.

And a head almost as blonde as his own, staring dreamily into the space occupied by Ron's eyes.

Finally, a head of that gloriously bushy brown hair, occupied alone on the end of the room, looking just a little bit lost.

…

Draco could understand how she felt. Once the conversation got going, he felt like an island, sinking in the sea of Weasleys. (And Potter, and Lovegood)

His mother was no help, either. She had instantly got on with Mrs. Weasley, and had been conscripted into helping out with the food.

He glanced around the full-packed room and took a deep breath, gathering his courage.

Fearing for his life, he dived into the fray.

…

A little while later, he found himself sprawled on a couch next to George, across from Potter, vigorously discussing whether the Cannons would make a rebound (no), if the Tornadoes could keep their winning streak, and if Puddlemere United had a chance (and they would, if Oliver had anything to say about it).

…

Somehow it was blurring past him so fast that he wasn't sure what was happening when.

It was all a comfortable, reddish blur: happy voices, good food, company.

Later, he would attribute this to a survival mechanism, designed to help him live through the night.

…

Draco had noticed with increasing frequency that the person who appeared to be the most out of place was _not_, surprisingly, himself. Oddly enough, it was Hermione.

Generally bolstered by the laughter coming from the kitchen, he floated over to the overstuffed chair that she had parked herself in, and seated himself on the arm companionably.

At least, _he_ thought it was companionable.

"I don't want to talk about my life with you right now, Malfoy."

Damn.

…

"For someone who spent an alarming amount of time trying to get me to open up, you should be aware of the virtues of venting to someone who is willing to listen," he said smoothly.

"Bloody ferret," she muttered, but shifted so that she could look him in the eye.

…

"Is it because the Weasel has a girlfriend?" He asked, curious.

"Not directly," she replied.

"Who's close-mouthed now?" he teased, all the while wondering _just what she could mean by that_ and hoping that there was a different explanation than the one that his mind immediately jumped to.

Not like he actually cared, of course.

…

She was silent for a while, and he was cautiously beginning to consider leaving when she parted those cherry-red lips and said: "It's just that everyone's pairing off, and it's obviously irrational to be jealous that I haven't paired off too."

"Nobody wants to be alone," Draco said quietly. "But you won't-"

Before he could finish his sentence, a large hand clamped down on his shoulder and George said with the most _despicable_ timing: "So, Draco, you never told me about your work as a Healer!"

Right then, Draco couldn't care less about his work as a Healer.

In fact, he was seriously considering packing up and moving somewhere far, far away, where there were no Weasleys to plague him any more.

…

After dinner, he was considering making himself scarce so that the Gryffindors couldn't find him.

Unfortunately, his next encounter _did_ find him. And sadly, his next encounter was Potter.

Draco didn't have anything against Potter, not _really_, not anymore. However, that didn't mean he wanted to talk to him. Especially not if Potter wanted to talk about what he thought that Potter wanted to talk about….

Now, there was a scary thought.

…

"Malfoy?" Potter asked, sitting down next to him, staring into the fire. "Can I have a word?"

Draco considered that this was, in fact, civil of Potter considering their past. He conceded with a simple "Yes."

Potter lowered his voice. "Does anyone else know?"

"About what?" Draco asked, more to stall the conversation with anything. _Where's one of those Weasleys when you need them?_

"About your dad," he said slowly, and Draco's heart plummeted.

Apparently, Weasleys would only get you out of conversations that you had wanted to have the first place.

…

Draco half-turned as Potter babbled something about how he wouldn't tell anyone- _good_ – but that he didn't think that keeping this secret was doing Draco any good, as if he would know.

"Let me make this clear," he said tiredly. "I'm not one of you. I'm not courageous. I'm not brave. I'm just me. And I think that telling other people could hurt them, too."

When Potter protested, he snapped: "Would you tell your mother if you had killed your dad?"

…

"Sorry," Draco mumbled at Potter's stricken face. "That was insensitive."

He left the shadows by the fire, not really considering that apologizing to Harry was probably more of a shocker than the comment itself.

…

He decided that it was time to leave. He whispered something to his mother, thanked Mrs. Weasley (with a surprisingly genuine smile), and clapped George on the back.

On the way out of the room, he pulled Hermione aside.

"I didn't get to finish earlier," he said. "I wanted to say that you won't be alone for long, because you're beautiful."

…

**A/N:**

**I like that ending.**

**Hello! **

**I know, I am an awful updater. I prostrate myself at your feet for forgiveness. **

**Anyways, here is Chapter Nine! To all of you who reviewed Eight:**

**Fulgance- Thanks again for reviewing! I hope I continue to live up to your expectations. And thanks for your opinion, I wasn't sure about this chapter, but now that it's written, I think it's rather nice. Draco and I thank you. :)**

**KodeV- Thanks very much! I expect much more jovial conversation between the two in the future, and much hilarity. (eventually, when Draco is more out of his shell.) And be sure that Molly will have a hand in it all!**

**The Wolf of Midnight- Thanks very much. And here's an update for you!**

**poincare- That's great to know. As much as clichés can be well done, I am glad to do something new.**

**Stardrop5- yes, yes, here it is miss Impatient ;) enjoy!**

**As for the rest… keep reviewing, and let me know if there's anything that you would be interested in seeing!**

**-Isefyr**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten: Delirium**

Waking up the next morning was as waking up with a hangover, or waking up the morning after you'd done an intense workout. Draco rolled over in bed, happy to be nested into his covers, and then froze as yesterday snuck up and hit him with a bludger.

He pulled the covers over his head and decided that he wasn't going to go to work, ever again.

…

And it was definitely the Weasleys' fault for asking him to dinner in the first place.

…

What a disaster. He did NOT tell Hermione she was beautiful.

…

Because she wasn't, really, she had all that _hair_ which just cascaded- well, tumbled down her back in curls- knots, really. And her eyes were just eyes, nothing special, just a shade of liquid brown that absolutely did _not_ remind him of chocolate. And if he noticed the smoothness of her skin, it was because he was repulsed by the idea of even touching it.

…

Oh, who was he kidding?

…

He pulled the covers off of his head and groaned. Sitting up with his head in his hands, he considered what he was going to do now.

He could leave the country, and at the moment he was very seriously considering it.

He could pretend that he was under the influence of something and didn't remember any of it.

He could say that he was somewhere else and that it was someone using Polyjuice potion, which would require some bribery on his part….

Or… he could just go forward one step at a time.

Of course, Draco was too much of a drama queen to do that.

…

"DRACO, YOU'RE GOING TO BE LATE TO WORK!"

Was that his mother? She almost never raised her voice.

"DO YOU REALIZE WHAT TIME IT IS?"

There was a very good reason he didn't have a clock in his bedroom.

"Are you moping about yesterday?"

The voice was closer now. Wait… what did she know about yesterday?

"It was very sweet of you."

Oh, _Salazar_, the whole bloody world knew.

…

It turned out that Hermione had only come to tell Mrs. Weasley and say goodbye before leaving shortly after he had. The only reason his mother knew was that she had somehow become bosom buddies with Mrs. Weasley, and they had probably been giggling about it like a couple of schoolgirls.

Unfortunately for Draco, he hadn't known this before diving under his bed and smacking his head on the metal frame.

Merlin, what was the point in going to work now?

…

It took coaxing; threatening, bribery, and cajoling from Narcissa to get Draco dressed, out of his room, and to the apparition point outside of the Manor.

He felt like he was a toddler, and he certainly wished he could act like one.

…

His almost lateness bore no comment, but after one case of chartreuse spots which transferred to anyone who touched the infected, a couple splinchings, and _four_ incidents with biting teacups, Draco needed coffee. Badly.

Usually he got coffee from a place halfway between St. Mungo's and the Ministy. However, he knew that many Ministry workers frequented that place- being the only wizard-run coffee shop in the area- and he _really_ didn't want to bump into Hermione there, miniscule as the possibility may be.

…

So, that meant a muggle coffee shop.

…

No problem, right?

…

It was the second coffee shop he'd tried after a mishap with muggle money, and he was contemplating the selection, feeling unsettled and rather unprepared.

_Maybe I should just go to the wizarding one,_ he thought. _She's probably up to her neck in work, anyways._

Irony walked up and smacked him over the head as a slender hand was laid on his shoulder. Draco whirled and would have taken Hermione's head off with his elbow if he hadn't checked himself in time.

…

"I wouldn't have expected to see you in a muggle café."

"Hello to you, too," he said with what he hoped was the right level of sarcasm.

_Good! Witty reply covered. Nice save._

"Having any trouble with muggle money?" Her eyes were sparkling.

He puffed out his chest. "I am a Malfoy. Malfoys _never_ have trouble with mundane things such as coffee."

"Is that so?"

"Well… there might have been an episode at this other coffee shop. But I admit to nothing."

…

"Why are _you_ here instead of saving the Ministry's arse for them again?"

"I'm on my break. And Godric knows we've tried, but wizarding coffee shops just don't make coffee the same way."

"I've never tried coffee here."

"Well then, you won't mind if it's my treat?"

…

Draco couldn't take much more of this. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

"Well, yesterday you were… very nice to me. I thought I'd return the favor."

Her implacable calm was an incredible juxtaposition to her emotional state the night before. Draco's eyebrows raised, just a hair. This woman was either a mystery, or she was used to keeping her feelings and thoughts under a mask like he was.

Also, she thought that he had blurted out The Compliment in a moment of sympathy.

He didn't like that thought, and he didn't know why.

…

He also didn't know why, after sitting in the coffee shop and drinking delectable coffee across from Hermione, he managed to regain his courage and unruffled Malfoy manner, and as he left breathed in her ear with just the _right amount of sexy_,

"By the way, love, I absolutely meant it."

...

And then he sauntered out of the coffee shop like nobody's business, enjoying how her eyes had widened just a fraction and an unmistakable blush had stained her cheeks.

Maybe it wasn't a disaster, after all.

…

After that, Draco got through one hysterical lady who claimed she had Dragon Pox, twin brothers who had tried to accelerate the making of Felix Felicis only to give themselves "Luck Poisoning," and many other cases without a hair on his head disturbed, and the smirk he wore was quite immoveable as well.

…

When he reached home at the end of the day, he paused in front of the hall mirror, studying the man he saw there.

He was perhaps thinner, and a little taller, than the Draco he used to know. In his eyes there was a sadness that could not be shaken, and the traces of pale scars on his pale skin contrasted greatly with the Mark that was usually hidden under long sleeves.

The smirk, however, was still firmly in place, and with it Draco found hope that he would not lose the past, even as he moved forward.

…

**A/N:**

**Another chapter! Huzzah! **

**I hope to give you one or two more chapters this early August, before I have to go on a family trip. Thus, hopefully I will be a better updater. I have far too many plots floating around my brain.**

**SO MANY THANKS!**

**Fulgance- My ever faithful reviewer, I thank you with great fervor for your commentary. I am always glad that you put such effort into picking out parts of the story. My hat is off to you. :) I hope you enjoy Draco in this chapter as well!**

**KodeV- Thank you! Yes, loud family can be intimidating. Especially to loveable Ferrets. ;) And he will tell his mother… eventually. We shall see. Hermione and Draco still have to have a _real_ tête-à-tête. **

**Stephanie – (for some reason your username refuses to post) Because you gave me three reviews in a row, haha… Thank you so much. Yes, Draco has to do some soul searching to move things along. But he's still a tricky Slytherin! **

**Guest- You're welcome! Draco, I think, has a very interesting perspective on the world. I'm glad to share my version with you.**

**The Wolf Of Midnight- I hear and obey, haha.**

**Soxylady – Thank you very much- and here you are!**

**On another note, I just got my driver's license, so I'm pretty pleased with myself right now. **

**Updates soon,**

**-Isefyr**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven: That's Magic **

When engaged in the social interaction known as "flirting", it is typical for the witty banter to be coy, enticing, and have absolutely no deeper meaning at all. However, the odds are that at least one of the parties involved will read things into the conversation, or take it more seriously than the other person intended.

_Or_, it is possible that the person who initially engaged in this pre-romantic act could take himself far too seriously, and fret about everything he said after she has gone.

…

_Not_ that this applied to Draco. Oh, no! Draco is obviously the epitome of a calm and collected person. Perfectly balanced, completely in tune with his inner self, never worrying about anything, no problems….

…

Oh, he wished.

…

Life goes on, however. In the midst of all of Draco's worrying (it was a miracle that he didn't get an ulcer from all the worrying he did) there was his job, and his mother, and a couple Weasley dinners. (and no, they did not get any more comfortable for Draco as time went on. Well, maybe a smidgeon.).

…

It was rare for Healers to have to leave St. Mungo's during business hours. When they did, however, St. Mungo's inevitably sent the best and brightest to deal with cases.

Draco was surprised to discover that he was considered valuable by upper management, but accepted the emergency call with dignity and apparated with haste.

Merlin, what had George gotten himself into this time?

…

When Draco arrived, he quickly went to the back room to seek out his redheaded… friend. What met his eyes was a woman lying on the floor, turning a strange shade of chartreuse, being watched over by a panicked George.

"What's happened?" Draco said briskly, slipping into a professional mode.

George looked up at him in relief, and Draco was pleasantly surprised to realize that he was needed, and liked, instead of shunned.

…

It turned out that Verity had opened a crate of their latest shipment of potion ingredients, only to inhale a very concentrated dose of something that was decidedly not the benign porcupine quills that they'd expected.

Draco quickly expelled any traces of the suspiciously dark powder from Verity's body, called for someone to pick her up, and examined the powder. It was reminiscent of something he'd seen his father use, and he decided that it needed to be brought to the Auror Department.

Merlin's pants, Draco Malfoy was about to become a fine, upstanding citizen.

…

Halfway through the bureaucratic processes of the Ministry, Draco was rapidly losing patience with this "upstanding citizen" thing.

He was aware that Ministry processing had much improved since the Golden Trio and Kingsley had joined its upper echelons. He was also aware that he was a Malfoy still, and since he kept to the Manor and St. Mungo's, most of the Ministry had no reason to trust him.

_Patience,_ he coached himself firmly. _Patience._

…

Salazar, if _one more official _asked him "if he had any _sanctioned_ business with the Ministry", he was going to explode.

…

"Mister _Malfoy_?"

"Yes."

"And what is _your_ business with the _Ministry_?"

…

"What rank did _you_ say you were? I'm afraid my business is _not_ with the Department of Games and Sports, let alone a _peon._"

Well, at least he knew that he was still in possession of the Malfoy Hauteur.

…

"Malfoy?"

He was in the fifth waiting room since he'd got there, and he was fairly sure that the mirror was actually a one-way window. He felt like a criminal.

"Potter," he nodded.

"What are you doing here?"

"Apparently, taking a tour of the Ministry's _hospitality_, when I really need to speak to someone about an incident at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes."

Potter's expression cleared. "This is ridiculous. Come with me and we'll discuss it."

Draco never thought he'd say this, but _Thank Merlin for Potter._

…

Well, you'd never catch him saying it _aloud._

…

Despite the fact that Potter was his age- a whopping eighteen years old- he had already risen to prominence in the Ministry.

Draco was mildly relieved to see that Potter was fairly disgusted with most of the Ministry as well. Once they were seated in Potter's office, he cut right to the chase. It was calming to note that while Potter didn't treat him as a buddy, he treated him as an equal.

"So what's this about George's shop?"

…

After Draco had explained the recent events, he cut to the chase.

"I think I have seen this powder before. My father used it, and it has dark properties."

Harry's brow creased. "And it appeared in George's shop in a shipment?"

He leaned back in his chair, and studied Draco's face. "Is there any way you could demonstrate what this powder does?"

Draco nodded.

"Excellent. Not right now, but I can make an appointment with you for your earliest convenience. Let me know of any tools you need, and hopefully we can figure out where this came from and why."

Potter started to write things down in a messy, individualistic scrawl.

"By the way, Malfoy, thank you."

…

Draco stood to leave, and Potter stood with him.

"Wait, Malfoy." he motioned for the door to close. "How are you doing?"

Draco knew what this was about. He shrugged, not looking Potter in the eyes.

"I haven't talked to anyone about it. I figure that people are better off not knowing."

Potter nodded, and came around the desk. He clasped Draco's shoulder, and Draco braced himself for an emotional, sensitive comment.

"Want to come to the Harpies game with me and Hermione? Ginny's playing, and I've got an extra ticket."

Surprised, Draco accepted.

…

On his way out of the Ministry, he was preoccupied by the unique experience of being treated as an equal. So preoccupied, in fact, that he didn't notice a specific bushy-haired brunette studying him as he crossed the marbled floor to the exit.

It was probably for the best. If he'd seen her blatantly checking him out, he might have thought that there was something going on.

Draco, however, remained blissfully unaware as he exited into the sun.

…

Yes, it is interesting to observe how a couple lines of a flirted conversation- how one-liners, even- can serve to change the perspectives of the individuals involved. Hermione's brown eyes twinkled as she followed Draco's stride out of the Ministry. Something was changing, and it was showing through even in his walk.

She patted herself on the back. He wasn't walking like a victim any more. Rather, like a person in charge of his own fate.

Score one for the Gryffindors.

…

**A/N:**

**I am an awful updater. I beg forgiveness from you all, because it appears that I lied. I didn't get to update before I left for the Land of No Internet, but now that I have returned, I will follow this one with an update quickly. The Quidditch match shall be fun to write, anyhow.**

**To my faithful and very very very patient reviewers:**

**Fulgance: While there isn't as much Dramione in this chapter, there will be _lots_ of it in the next one. That is a promise. Sexy Draco just might make reappearance, too. ;) I hope you enjoy this chapter too (albeit its lateness) and thank you again so much for continuing to review!**

**KodeV: Thank you! I live to amuse, haha. And while vulnerable Draco is interesting to write, confident Draco is just plain fun. (This is Draco. This is Draco on Coffee.) Thank you again! **

**IantosStopwatch: I definitely agree! Draco's being a Healer is probably the best thing for him. And I am glad that you are enjoying the story thus far. Thanks!**

**Mother Midnight: And thanks to you as well. I am doing my best to keep it engaging, even with my sporadic updating.**

**I shall return with another chapter! **

**-Isefyr**


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve: Pride**

The day of the Quidditch match dawned bright and early, sending Draco stumbling out of bed, into his clothes, and down to the kitchen in search of caffeine.

What greeted him, however, was not coffee but Potter, Hermione, and his mother sitting at the kitchen table drinking tea and laughing. Draco thought he caught the phrase "Drakie" and hastily turned around, intent on heading back to his bed.

Wasn't the match in the _afternoon_?

…

Unfortunately, neither Draco nor the Manor was built for camouflage, and they noticed him before he could take another step.

"Draco!" Hermione called out cheerfully.

He turned around to look at them, and winced when he saw how cheerful they were. This did not bode well for the rest of the day.

…

The match _was _in the afternoon.

They were just here early to make sure he didn't try to escape.

…

"Harry and Hermione thought that you deserved a day out. I'm so glad you're making friends, Draco!" Narcissa gushed.

What, was he twelve?

And since when was his mother on a first-name basis with two-thirds of the Golden Trio?

…

Well, he supposed that he might as well sit down with them and have some tea. It wasn't going to kill him.

Hermione poured him a cup and he studied her. She really did look good, especially now that she didn't have to wear the Hogwarts uniform all the time. Draco became preoccupied with the concentrated look in her eye as she poured out without spilling a drop.

"Cream or sugar?"

…

"Er…. Both…" Draco stammered, caught off guard.

Harry half smirked, his mother smiled into her cup, and Hermione impassively added both to his cup.

…

He'd liked both cream and sugar in his tea ever since he could remember, back before Hogwarts when he'd had tea with his mother every morning, a little island of calm out in the garden before his father woke.

…

"And you," Draco announced to Hermione, "Like your tea with cream only, herbal if possible, no sugar. Maybe honey once in a while. Very sensible." He gave her a wide grin.

Hermione raised an eyebrow and smirked into her tea as she took a sip.

Potter laughed out loud, a jovial sound that sounded perfectly natural in his house. "He's got you pegged, Hermione."

She said nothing, just raised an eyebrow at Narcissa.

…

"Well, Harry, what do you have in your tea?" Narcissa said, playing along. "Since we're… _analyzing_ everyone here."

"Perhaps we should read each other's tea-leaves when we're done," Potter joked.

Hermione groaned and threw a sugar cube at Potter. He caught it in his mouth and bit down with a triumphant _crunch._

Draco grinned, and said mockingly, "Harry likes cream and sugar in his tea, too."

Harry yelled indignantly, Hermione gave Draco the thumbs-up, and everyone burst into raucous laughter.

Looking around the warm kitchen, Draco decided that this was exactly what the Manor needed.

…

Potter- _Harry, _Draco supposed it was now- and Hermione stayed until lunch, and then the three of them apparated to the Ilkley Moor Stadium to watch the Harpies play the Wasps.

Harry was looking around for their seats, and then he spotted a couple of the Weasleys. Hermione and Draco lost him in the crowd, which was surprisingly easy to do. He supposed the Boy Who Lived had to have _some_ hidden talents.

He looked over at Hermione, who shrugged at him and said; "Let's just head to the box, we'll meet him there."

They pushed their way through the crowds, Draco parting the way because of his height (and if he used the occasional Malfoy Glare to move aside some particularly pernicious fans, who could blame him?).

Stopped before they entered the box by a security guard who thought Draco was trying to break in, he took great satisfaction from the look on his face when Hermione said that Draco was her guest, thanks, and he should mind his manners.

…

They settled down in the private box, sitting next to each other so that Draco was highly aware that the flimsy armrest was not wide enough for the both of them to lean on without their arms touching.

He leaned forward as if interested in the pitch, even though nobody was on it yet. He heard Hermione giggle, and shot her a questioning look.

"Scared, Malfoy?" she challenged, tapping the armrest.

"Didn't want to overwhelm you, sweetheart," he replied casually, leaning back and resting his arm defiantly on the plastic-and-cloth barrier.

He was pleased to note that the tips of her ears turned the slightest pink.

…

Harry came back _eventually,_ trailing a Weasley or two and practically vibrating with anticipation.

"Now, Malfoy," he said mock-sternly, "Don't think you can get away from us just yet. I command you to remain glued to that seat until further notice!"

"I don't mind," Draco said in a low voice, looking straight at Hermione.

"What if I do?" She smirked back.

"I don't think you do," he whispered, as the redheads got settled about them.

"You're right," She grinned back. "I don't mind."

…

He didn't see much of the match. Draco loved Quidditch, and when he _was_ paying attention he'd appreciated how talented the Harpies were- especially Ginny.

However, there was a brunette sitting next to him that he couldn't resist teasing, and as a result he was only vaguely aware when the Harpies won.

The roar throughout the stadium was a content purr in Draco's chest as the Harpies caught the snitch, and Hermione grabbed his hand and rocketed to her feet, cheering.

He joined in the jubilant cries with all his heart.

…

Of _COURSE_, as he reasoned with himself after, it would do wonderful things with his reputation if he spent lots of time with the muggleborn Hermione. That was exactly why he agreed to go out to dinner with Harry, Ginny and Hermione to celebrate, of course.

It wasn't that he was _looking forward_ to their company. No, he was _tolerating _them, for- for-

-his own good….

….maybe…

…

They were going to a new, upscale place in Diagon Alley, and as a result they'd agreed to meet there so they could all change. He, of course, got there first. Malfoys were never late.

Draco shook hands with Harry, was choked by a hug from Ginny (who was still so happy she was hugging everyone she knew), and then turned to Hermione.

"Enchanted," he murmured, and then bowed over her hand, brushing it with his lips.

Malfoys were also very suave.

Hermione had grinned awkwardly as Harry and Ginny –funny how he was thinking with their first names, now – laughed at the look on her face. Offering her his arm, Draco swept into the restaurant very, very pleased with himself.

…

Of course, the bow had allowed him ample opportunity to observe that the elegant red dress she was wearing made her look particularly delicious.

…

He was surprised at how easily he relaxed when he wasn't thinking about his problems.

Draco was fairly relieved by this, as people who talk about their problems all the time have a propensity to sound like whiny teenage girls, and that is definitely not flattering for a gentleman like himself.

…

The dinner had been splendid, the wine superb, and, Draco had to admit, the company was pleasant as well. Harry and Ginny, while in the midst of their tumultuous, star-crossed romance, managed to keep their conversation relevant and humorous, and of course Hermione always added witty asides.

He was surprised by the similarity to his Slytherin friends during their school days, the camaraderie apparent, supplemented by the clear loyalty that the Gryffindors held so dear.

All in all, he was surprised. Both by himself, and the company he was sharing.

…

The night ended too soon, and if Draco's hands lingered on Hermione's shoulders when he was helping her on with her coat, he was not to be blamed.

**A/N: **

**I promised another chapter soon to make up for my woefully lax updating, and here it is!**

**It is a mix of Dramione and Draco; I don't like to lose his introspection to the plot- rather try to balance them as best I can. **

**Besides. Draco _is_ healing, just… slowly. **

**Thanks to all the reviewers who managed to reply yesterday, as well as everyone who favorited and followed! **

**By name: **

**Hiddlydiddly, (thank you very much! I'm glad you're enjoying it, and I'll do my best to update!), **

**Mother Midnight (here you go, :) another chapter), **

**KodeV (Yes, Haughty Malfoy is Haughty! I hope you enjoy Suave Malfoy as well!),**

**Narutogirl103 (Thank you!),**

**The Silvermoon Wolf (I know, it's hard to keep track of time! Thanks for the feedback, appreciated),**

**and Guest. **

**Thank you all, and hopefully I'll update again soon!**

**-Isefyr**


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen: Unlucky**

Life cannot go for too long in one direction without a reminder that things do not always stay the same. Those on the quick ascent to the top will eventually meet with roadblocks, and those on a downward spiral will eventually have a ray of hope. When you spend the summer away, you always have to come back to school or work. And when you make new friends, it is not possible for you to spend all of your time with them, no matter how much you might want to.

Of course, this _isn't _Draco we're talking about. They weren't his _friends._

…

Yet.

…

Or were they? Draco was confused. He was in over his little blond head. He'd never made this many friends at one time in his entire lifetime.

Of course, he had an entire lifetime left to live. Maybe this was preparation for the time in the future when he would become intensely popular.

Yeah, that's right.

…

It was a weekend, and he didn't have any work to do. Somehow, this made him feel sort of lost.

He wandered around the Manor, uncertain of what he was doing, past his father's old study gathering dust, down the long hallway with all his ancestors' portraits.

Standing in front of centuries of Malfoys, all of them watching with disapproving and haughty expressions on their painted mouths, he wondered at how the hallway made you feel so small. The _history_ imbued in this place was so present that he could feel it pressing on him, pushing him as if it could force him to his knees.

He walked past them all, and he did his best to keep his head high.

Not even a Malfoy could make this Malfoy bow his head again.

…

One step at a time, and he was out of that hallway, down a flight of delicate stairs, and out into the garden.

He liked this place, because it was one of the few spots in the Manor that did not hold unhappy memories for him. It was simply a garden- no matter how much land it covered, how impressive it was, it held nothing to fear.

…

Draco stood over the pond, rippling faintly with the changing air, and looked upon its surface. In it, silhouetted by the sun, was his reflection, and he studied it carefully for a few moments.

The water twisted and moved back on itself, ripping in complicated little patterns, sometimes obscuring his face. But when it was clear, it showed someone who was very clearly Draco. Not a Malfoy. Not a Slytherin. Not a coward, not a bully, not a murderer.

The person in the pond simply…. Was. Without fault and without doubt.

And there he stood, complacent, confusing the Draco standing and looking in.

…

There were a few lines on his face, a few scars. The circles under his eyes were gone.

Is that something he should feel guilty about?

…

He did, when he came across his mother by the roses.

She was sitting with her spine as straight as was humanly possible, hands folded in her lap, contemplating a pile of pale pink petals in her lap.

The roses here were always blooming, his mother saw to that. She loved to sit by them, and Draco often found her sitting here when she had wanted to be alone, but she would always happily hoist him onto her lap and listen.

…

So, this time, he sat down and listened.

…

Narcissa was alone but for Draco, and she'd resigned herself to the fact.

It wasn't that she missed _Lucius,_ exactly, more that she missed always having someone to talk to, to turn to, and on his most sympathetic days, someone who understood her.

Draco would never be free of that guilt.

…

But instead of moping, and hiding, and breaking things, he decided on a different course of action.

To tell his mother everything would hurt her, and he instantly resolved not to do so, a desire not to hurt anyone ever again born from a side of himself that he didn't know existed before now.

…

Instead of speaking, he wrote a quick note, before he could lose his nerve and decide that it was most definitely _not _a good idea.

…

_Dear Hermione,_ (the note read),

_Two things._

_Do you think that Mrs. Tonks would like to see my mother, one of these days? Could you please find out and get back to me? It would mean a lot to me if you would help me out. I would even, maybe, owe you a favor. Maybe. I make no promises that could lead to my impending doom._

_Regards, _

_Draco._

_P.S. And do you think that you would like to see me?_

…

So he waited.

And waited.

And waited.

…

Draco quickly discovered that looking out of the window repeatedly for an owl did not make the owl get there any faster. No matter how many times he looked to make sure he didn't miss it, it simply was not there.

This quickly became very frustrating.

What was she doing that was more important than replying to _him_?

…

He paced his room, and paced, and paced and paced and paced and-

_Tap, tap, tap._

…

Draco had a most unmanly reaction to this noise at his window. Thankfully, nobody was around to _see_ him spin rapidly around, flail as if set upon by Wrackspurts, slip, and hit the floor with a most undignified _thud._

…

His owl, watching calmly from its perch outside the window, was laughing at him. Draco was sure of it.

He picked himself up off the floor, crossed to the window, and let the owl in. It gracefully hopped in, flew to his bed, deposited the letter, and looked at him.

It was mocking him.

…

Ever gracious, Draco gave it a treat, and let it head on its way to their owlery.

Then he stared at the letter on his bed, an innocuous piece of parchment, which he was _sure_ was going to bite him, or worse, as soon as he tried to open it.

He edged towards his bed. Then tiptoed a little further.

_Just do it, Draco,_ he chided himself.

He lunged for the bed.

…

With a face full of his bedcovers, he somehow managed to open the letter and read it, not bothering to move.

_Dear Draco,_

_Andromeda would be delighted to see your mother if Narcissa is willing. I suspect that Andromeda is lonely as well, since she lost most of her family in the final battle. Did you want to surprise your mother or did you have a plan there?_

_I might have to use that favor in the near future. I promise no doom is in store for you._

_-Hermione_

_P.S. Sure, I'd like to see you. When?_

….

If Narcissa had walked by Draco dancing gleefully around his bedroom holding a letter, she made no comment of it the next morning, for which he was intensely grateful.

…

He wrote back with extreme haste.

…

_Hermione,_

_Thank you, thank you, and thank you!_

_I want it to be a surprise. Could you arrange for Andromeda to meet us to have tea, and I'll meet you there with my mother? Let me know what day she decides on._

_Now you're just making me curious._

_-Draco_

_P.S. Perhaps we might go for lunch after the aforementioned surprise?_

_P.P.S. I eagerly await your reply._

…

**A/N:**

**Well, considering, that wasn't _too _long of a gap between updates.**

**I thought that Angsty-Draco should make a reappearance, because there were some things that should not be forgotten.**

**Also, if Draco's life is improving, so should Narcissa's. It's only fair.**

**To my reviewers:**

**KodeV: Draco is a very interesting character to get into the head of. He's so very _human_. And the things that he's gone through bring out lots of emotions to play with. Thank you so much for your continued support! And I'm glad that I managed to make you smile. I hope that you're having a better week so far!**

**Honoria Granger: I agree. Draco and Narcissa are characters who are largely untapped, and very relatable. I hope I continue to please! I plan to keep this story going until the plot has played out in my head. And yes, I have considered becoming an author because I love to write, but we shall see. Are you really? Is it lots of fun? **

**Mother Midnight: And here you go.**

**Guest: Thank you as well!**

**Silvermoon Wolf: I like my tea very much, and it kind of sprung up in this chapter, haha. But I think it's an interesting representation of their characters. And yes, Draco is lots of fun when he's in denial. Does the pond count as a mirror? It will definitely come back.**

**I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER.**

**See you soon!**

**-Isefyr**


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen: Translation**

On the morning that Draco's plan was to be put into action, he woke with the sun and a massive panic attack. What if it all went wrong? What if Hermione didn't actually want to see him? _What if he wore the wrong pants?_

Thankfully, his mother's room was far enough away that she _probably_ couldn't hear him sorting through his closet like a frantic squirrel.

…

Two hours and twelve pairs of pants later, it was actually a decent hour of the morning and time for breakfast. Draco smoothed his hair, straightened his shirt, and tried to put just the right amount of casual in his stride as he swaggered towards the breakfast table.

Narcissa glanced up from the flower arrangement and raised an eyebrow, but didn't say a word.

…

She accepted his invitation to go out for tea midmorning without any question, and Draco practically sprinted away from the table in his efforts to get away without her guessing everything.

He suspected that he just wasn't cut out for subterfuge.

…

Narcissa took forever to dress. Draco paced around the hallway, and tried to…help.

"Why don't you wear that pink thing?"

"And these. Look how shiny they are!"

"You look wonderful, mother."

...

"Draco, are you ill?"

…

Actually, now that he thought about it, he kind of was feeling sick. It was this queer, fluttering feeling in his stomach and palms, tickling his insides and making him unable to sit still. It didn't match any symptoms for any sickness _he_ knew.

…

Maybe it was a curse.

…

Was he about to morph into some fearsome creature?

…

Perhaps it was Gryffindor poisoning. Prolonged contact with emotional, do-gooder types was probably hazardous to his health.

…

But it was too late to turn back now, and so Draco bravely offered his mother his arm, strolled out the door and disapparated with the air of a man on a mission. The day, after all, wasn't only for himself, but for his mother, who had raised him and protected him, and deserved a little love in return.

Draco held onto that thought as he led his mother into the tearoom, measuring his steps with the beating of his heart.

…

Andromeda was already sitting at the table. As if she'd sensed her sister's arrival, she stood, turned, and smiled at Narcissa.

Draco looked down at his mother, who had frozen in place, hands over her mouth, staring at Andromeda. Tears were welling in her eyes, and Draco started to panic, thinking that he'd done something wrong.

Before he could say anything, Narcissa gave one short sob, gathered her skirts in her hands, and fairly sprinted across to her older sister to grab her in a fierce hug.

"I'm sorry," she wailed, clutching her sister's waist. "P-p-please forg-give me."

Andromeda was crying as well, but laughing through her tears as she wrapped her arms around Narcissa and hugged her close.

"Of course, Cissy. Of course I will."

…

Draco turned his head to the ceiling, blinking at the lights in a fierce attempt to resist tears.

There was a hand on his arm, and he flinched lightly, looking down at Hermione, who had suddenly materialized right next to him.

"Something in my eye," he muttered by way of explanation.

Hermione looked a little teary herself.

"Me too," she said.

…

Draco had tried to leave Narcissa and Andromeda to talk. He really _had_ tried to give them their space. Unfortunately, when he'd tiptoed by them on his way out, Hermione following, a pale hand had shot out of the mashed-together sisters and pulled him in.

Just like that, he was trapped, tangled with his mother and his aunt, both of them crying happy tears onto his shirt. His mother was saying "Thank you" over and over, and Andromeda was smiling so big that it looked like it hurt.

He felt absolutely and unbelievably loved, and so full of the emotion that his heart felt like it would burst.

…

Hermione tried the same thing- to sneak past them while she thought nobody was looking.

Draco, however, his heart full of emotion, decided that she wasn't going to get away with that. He stretched a little to the left and extended his hand, and caught Hermione's shirt between two fingers. She paused, and that was enough of a distraction to allow Narcissa to grab her as well.

Between them, they reeled her in.

…

It was as if fireworks of poignancy were bombarding Draco.

Really, the moment could not be described.

He had family, and he had friends, and people that he loved were happy in this moment, and in this moment, that was all that really mattered.

…

Eventually, the tears were wiped away, and everyone reluctantly untangled themselves from the hug.

And, of course, Hermione was invited to tea (lunch, now, since they had been mashed together for what was probably an eternity).

…

Hermione didn't even look in his direction when she ordered an herbal tea with honey, though he could have sworn that she smiled.

…

They fell to chatting, of course, as if years and a war hadn't separated them, as if they hadn't stood on different sides of a roughly drawn line.

Andromeda had lost her husband and her daughter, but she had a grandchild to raise. Narcissa cooed over the photographs of Teddy, (she was related to him, after all), offered to babysit if necessary, and then made an artfully embarrassing comment about how she would like grandchildren one of these days.

"No pressure," she smiled at Draco, and then turned her eye on Hermione.

"Have you ever thought about children, dear?"

Draco just about choked on his tea.

…

After a couple hours of chatting, Narcissa and Andromeda took their leave to the Tonks house. Draco and Hermione were entreated to stay and talk to each other a while longer, Hermione was bullied into accepting a dinner invitation, and Narcissa and Andromeda apparated away with a very self-satisfied sounding CRACK_._

They stared awkwardly at each other.

"So, er…." Draco started.

Hermione smiled, and raised an eyebrow as a challenge.

"Why don't you come with me?" he suggested.

The challenge vanished. "Where?"

He smirked right back at her. "It's a surprise."

…

She considered it, as he knew she would, and then extended her hand as an acceptance, as he'd also known she would do. Gryffindors never could back down from a dare.

…

Draco paid the proprietor well, offered Hermione his arm, and disapparated with his own smug-sounding CRACK.

...

"Cover your eyes."

"Are you serious?"

"C'mon. Trust me."

…

"Voila."

They were standing in the middle of the Manor library, restored to its former glory. Draco had assisted the house-elves one afternoon in dusting, rearranging, and tossing out any remnants of the Dark Lord. It was now what it was supposed to be- austere and beautiful and filled with knowledge.

"You _would_ have brought me to a _library_," she said, but her eyes were sparkling.

…

He stood behind her as she studied a shelf of stories, breathing in the scent of her hair and marveling at the feeling of being happy because someone else was.

Placing a hand above her head against the bookshelves, he looked down at her and thought that he could definitely get used to this.

…

**A/N:**

**Hello, all. It's back to school for me, which means that I am now swamped with homework. But, I will do my best to update as often as I can. **

**To my reviewers:**

**KodeV: Yes, I think that Narcissa is a character with potential for redemption. So I hope that this chapter meets your approval to start her and Andromeda's mended relationship! (Group hugs for the win). Thanks so much! And I am glad that you've had a better week. Hopefully life is going well for you!**

**The Silvermoon Wolf: I don't think that I mentioned them too extensively. However, I think that if Draco started to heal, it would eventually spread out from him to his friends, since he's so influential in their circle. You may see more of them later. Thanks for the review!**

**Draco lover 91: thank you very much! I hope you continue to enjoy it!**

**Mother Midnight: It's a new style for me- I'm glad you like it. :)**

**Guest: Everyone needs to let out his or her inner teenage girl once in a while. Thanks for the review!**

**Jackwe Depp: And here's another one. Thank you!**

**That's all, folks! See you around!**

**-Isefyr**


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen: Taciturnity **

Draco sprawled on a couch, arm artlessly thrown behind his head, sprawled out without a care in the world. His eyes were half closed, and he was watching Hermione with an expression resembling a satisfied cat.

He really did enjoy the look on her face as she devoured book after book, reveling in the written word.

…

It had become a habit, spending time with Hermione in his library. When they weren't working, it was a place of peace, without any pressure.

Plus, Draco was rapidly gaining this obsession with the minute expressions that blossomed on Hermione's face every time she turned a page.

…

His mother had hit it off so well with her sister that it was as if they had never been parted. True, there were some rough patches, but mostly they went ignored. Narcissa was at Andromeda's house so often that Draco wasn't sure she lived in the Manor anymore.

Not that he _minded._

His mother did have this bad habit of wiggling her eyebrows at Draco every time Hermione was over.

…

It was idyllic, and it was peaceful, and it almost resembled normal.

…

Of course, every time he thought that, the guilt came crashing back down.

…

"Draco?"

"Mmmmhmm?"

"…Are we friends?"

…

Draco lifted his head, trying to keep his cool.

"Of course we are," he said firmly. Then laid his head back down. "I don't know how I would put up with you otherwise."

He winked.

…

Of course, the wink wasn't enough to stop the book that was chucked at his head a moment later.

…

Rubbing his ear ruefully, Draco protested, "You know I mean it."

She grinned. "Of course I do."

He did his best to look carefully unaffected as he relaxed back into the cushions. His _absolute_ best. His supremely perfect poker face was definitely-

"Because," she said slyly, "you obviously wouldn't know what to do without me, so I can't leave your pathetic arse alone now could I?"

…

Draco sat up, poker-stiff.

"You take that back, witch!" He mock-growled, stalking forward to where she was sitting on the carpet. She smirked up at him, worthy of a Slytherin, as he loomed over her.

"Or what?" She raised an eyebrow as a challenge.

"Or this!" Draco hollered, and promptly started to tickle her.

…

Ten minutes later, they were splayed across the plush carpet, breathing heavily.

Hermione rolled over, hair flying every which way, cheeks flushed and panting, to look at him with a half-smile curling up her face.

Narcissa walked in, did a double take at the sight of them haphazardly flung across the floor, and wiggled her eyebrows at Draco. He groaned and threw a pillow at her, which she caught with a grin.

…

Ten more minutes later, Narcissa was declared the victor of the pillow fight.

…

Draco's days fell into a pattern. There was work, where he felt fulfilled and useful, with no time to think. There was family, where he was very pleased that everyone was knitting together so well. There were Gryffindors, who continually wanted to spend time with him, and Draco wouldn't admit to himself how he felt about that.

And then there was Hermione, who showed up in his library or when he was going to get coffee, and filled in some of the missing pieces in his life.

…

Draco decided that he didn't like Fridays. On Fridays, every witch and wizard in the entirety of England, it seemed, got relaxed and apparently decided it was a good idea to do stupid things and get themselves injured.

He was rather tired of the I-slept-with-someone-else-and-my-girlfriend-hexed-me stories, and the I-drank-an-unidentified-potion stories, and the it-was-a-bet-to-see-if-I-would-eat-frog-spleens stories. He was readying himself for another one when he looked up to see Potter and Weasley- er, Harry and Ron- standing in front of him, pale and wide-eyed, supporting an unconscious Hermione.

They didn't have to say anything. She was being looked after in seconds.

…

Apparently Hermione had caught an Unspeakable who had been smuggling prophecies out of the Department of Mysteries. When she confronted the Unspeakable- alone, without any backup – he panicked and attacked her. Hermione, resourceful as ever, had paralyzed him before she lost conciousness.

Draco heard all this while intently examining Hermione for any damage. He barely looked up when the Unspeakable was brought in to be examined, and he didn't blink when Harry and Ron clapped him on the shoulder and left to notify the Minister.

He was far too busy making sure that Hermione was going to be okay.

…

Three potions and an enterprising incantation later, Draco was certain she would be.

Just in case- and that's all he was doing, he told himself, just following up on a serious injury- he owled Narcissa and settled down in the chair next to her bed for the night.

…

Draco was woken by a gentle hand on his shoulder. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, trying to remember where he was.

Hermione was sitting up in the bed, looking normal, albeit pale, with a strange expression on her face.

"Were you here all night?"

Draco caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror. Mussed hair, with a wrinkle from his sleeve pressed into his face, and circles under his eyes. He tried to discreetly flatten his hair.

"Well…."

Just then, Ron and Harry tumbled in, followed in by a bunch of Weasleys.

"Blimey," Ron said, "you really did stay all night!"

…

Amidst all the kerfuffle that followed, Hermione's hand caught his, and he was pulled back to his seat before he could leave.

"Thank you," she said, and suddenly he felt uncomfortable.

"I just wanted to make sure you were alright," Draco said, and her hand in his tightened a little.

…

"C'mere," she said, pulling him closer. He followed her hand, hesitantly stepping closer to the bed.

She pulled him down and kissed his cheek.

…

Redheads surrounded her, then, and the hand that tethered Draco to the earth pulled back.

He didn't really mind. He was floating, set adrift, but for once in his life, it was alright.

Draco quietly slipped out of the room, softly smiling, unaware of the deep brown eyes that watched him go.

…

There was still work to do before he left, regardless of his having stayed the whole night. He methodically cleaned and put away cauldrons and vials, sorting potion ingredients with the ease of practice. His mind was both on his work and not, drifting on random patterns of thought.

Finally, it was done, and he could leave.

Of course, before he could, Harry got in his way.

Why did he have this sinking feeling that he was going to have another heart-to-heart with Saint Potter?

…

Harry didn't say anything, though, just held out his hand to shake.

Draco, unsuspecting, took it, and was pulled into a hug. He clapped Harry on the back, awkwardly, not sure what to do. When Harry let go of him, Draco was surprised to see that he was almost crying.

"Thank you," Harry said. "Thank you for my best friend."

Harry turned away, then, and Draco made his escape.

…

Back at the Manor, he tugged off his outer robes, pulled off his tie and threw them both on a chair. Facing himself in the mirror in the library- this house, he thought, had too many mirrors- still wearing yesterday's clothes, he asked himself a question.

"What is going on?"

The Draco in the mirror shaped the question with his lips, but had no answer.

…

**A/N:**

**Hello again, all!**

**I have lots of you to thank this time around:**

**Mother Midnight: I didn't even realize it was a Beauty and the Beast moment until I read this! But it is indeed. Thank you!**

**Lady in Red: Thank you very much. Here's another chapter! :)**

**KodeV: Thanks! I liked writing it, too. I think it should work out well for those two.**

**ThatMalf0yGirl: Thank you! And you need wait no longer. **

**The Talking Head: The banter between the characters is one of my favorite things to write. They're just so much fun! Thank you so much!**

**Rainbow Smiles: And the angsty confused romance goes on. :)**

**StarDrop5: 1) Thanks for reviewing my other story! 2) Look, another chapter. Reviewers need sob no more. Thank you too, and pffefferneuse right back at you.**

**Fulgance: Wow, four reviews in one! I feel like it's Christmas already. Thank you so much for continuing to review every chapter, late or not. I really appreciate your support and how you pick something about each chapter you like! Draco is continuing to grow well as a character, isn't he? Thank you again!**

**I don't, unfortunately, own Harry Potter. How sad. **

**-Isefyr**


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen: Singularity**

Normalcy was something that most people do not aim for. They wish to be heroic, successful, happy, and unusual. Many people live their lives without achieving anything of newsworthy importance, but they are happy without these things. Deep down, though, everyone has had the dream of being the knight in shining armor, the brilliantly successful inventor, the action hero, or even the princess who lives happily ever after.

Not Draco. Draco wanted a normal life. He wanted to be able to be content, without any worries, just like the many little muggles who ran by St. Mungo's without a care but their shopping of the day. Draco wanted peace, not heroics.

And one day, when he was tidying up the ward, he looked at Hermione's sleeping face and started to admit to himself that he wanted peace with _her_.

Of course, before he could do that, Pansy walked into the room, and Draco nearly dropped his wand.

…

"Pansy?"

She clicked into the room on high heels, her forehead wrinkled in what might have been puzzlement.

"Draco, what are you doing here?"

She stopped just short of him, looking up into his face with a sort of placid curiosity that unsettled him. He didn't understand the question, really.

"I'm doing my job," he said, and though he really didn't want to know why she was here, asked: "And what are you doing here?"

She did a very good job of demurely looking at her shoes. "I heard you were here. I didn't know you were-" -her nose wrinkled- "-working. Are the Malfoy fortunes that low?"

"No," he said, gently. "I'm here because I want to be."

…

It took Pansy a moment to comprehend this fully.

…

She got the concept rather quickly, which surprised Draco to no end. Pansy wasn't stupid, but she was a pampered pureblood through and through, and she didn't see how things could be otherwise.

He watched disbelief, shock, hope, puzzlement, and finally acceptance cross her face before she perfectly composed herself and straightened her spine.

She'd come a long way, he mused. Pansy was never this refined, or in control, when she was in school.

Then again, he'd come a long way as well. It was a sobering thought.

…

"So… you don't want things to be like they were, do you?" It wasn't really a question.

Draco put his hand on her shoulder.

"I'm okay now, Pans," he said, deliberately using her old nickname so that she would relax. "I have a lot on my mind. I need this."

She remained stiff for a moment, and then leaned in for a hug.

"Okay, Drake," she muttered, with her face pressed into his shirt. "Okay."

…

She left with the same impeccable posture, and the same regal bearing, but with his promise to owl her and maybe come over for tea.

Pansy had looked over at Hermione in the bed nearby before she'd left, and to Draco's surprise, the look hadn't been full of hate. It wasn't full of the desire to be friends, either, but she looked… remorseful. She'd even whispered something to Hermione when she left, something that had looked like "I'm sorry."

Pansy had surprised him. People really did change, he thought. She wasn't a muggle-lover, but she wasn't her old self, either. It was startling.

Was this how people felt when they looked at him, now?

…

Hermione stirred and roused him out of his musings. When her eyes opened, he was standing at the side of her bed with his hands on his hips.

"You've been awake for the last twenty minutes," Draco announced. "I know you, o nosy one."

She grinned, a little ruefully.

…

Draco went home that night, partially because Hermione was basically cured, and partially because he'd received an owl from Narcissa that stated "If you don't come home soon, I will come there and forcibly remove you from her bedside."

Because he didn't feel up to explaining such a spectacle to the rest of the healers, home he went.

…

His home had been taken over by a bunch of Weasleys!

…

Draco fled to his room under the pretense of making himself look respectable, locked the door, and stopped the panic attack which had been about to happen. So _this _was why his mother had lured him home. To continue fraternizing with the Weasleys.

He ran his fingers through his hair, torn between wanting to go see if George was there, and hiding under his bed until it was over.

_Knock, knock._

"AAAH!"

…

It was, in fact, Mrs. Weasley, who swept into Draco's room with an air of belonging there, and crushing him in a giant hug.

"Draco! I can't thank you enough for all you've done for our family." She said, squeezing him until his face turned blue.

He let it happen. Molly Weasley was just so… comforting.

"It was nothing," he mumbled. "I would do it again."

Which, of course, made her hug him so tightly that the remaining air was pushed from his lungs.

…

Once he'd made it downstairs (alive), he thought he was completely ready to be overwhelmed by Weasleys. Of course, that is never truly possible.

There was a banner in place, strung up below the chandelier, proclaiming in loud purple letters "THANK YOU DRACO!" and there were streamers strewn all over the place. Mostly green and silver, he noted with the remnants of his Slytherin pride.

The detail that really hit him, however, was Hermione, sitting delicately on a chair in the middle of the dining room.

And just like that, he was overwhelmed.

…

He tried to casually discover how she'd left the hospital so quickly, but to no avail. He was swept up in a happy group of Weasleys, so pleased that he was their friend, so pleased that he had changed.

It was an interesting thought. He contrasted someone like George Weasley to Pansy, and was surprised to find that they were equally important to him, if George didn't have the greater claim.

This was so disconcerting that Draco had to sit down.

…

Of course, he wasn't sitting down for long.

George enlisted him to play a prank on the entire crowd, and Draco went along with it, filled with glee.

They worked _perfectly_ together. Draco knew all the right places to put the fuses, and George snuck around, nonchalantly putting the pieces in place, as Draco distracted the Weasley clan. When that was ready, Draco snuck out of the room, met George in the front hall, and between unmanly giggles, they said the incantation.

There were several loud POPs, and some shrieking and laughter as the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes Tickling Balloons inflated and attacked the crowd.

"GEORGE WEASLEY!"

They crowed, and ran away from the avenging fists of Molly Weasley.

…

Hermione had been laughing so hard she fell off her chair, and Draco was inordinately pleased at the sight. It was satisfying to know that he was the one who had caused a smile on her face, and put those roses in her cheeks.

…

The thought that his father would be greatly disapproving of the company he was keeping now made him even more determined to be sociable. The knowledge that his mother _did_ approve was even more heartening.

…

Once they'd all left, (and Draco was sad to see them go), Draco told his mother about Pansy's visit to St. Mungo's. Narcissa appraised him, and once she'd determined that he wasn't upset about it, said slowly:

"Take her up on tea, Draco. I think you could be a good influence on her."

And then, of course, she had to add:

"You don't have to worry- I'm not going to arrange your marriage!"

…

It was rather odd, he thought, that he could be considered to be a good influence on anyone. But he was sure that he could get used to the idea.

…

**A/N:**

**Hello again. I'm sorry it's been so long- life has been busy. Plus, I am attempting to do NaNoWriMo, so forgive me for neglecting Draco.**

**I do not, once again, own Draco. How very, very sad. **

**To my reviewers:**

**Fulgance: Thank you very much. That's a remarkable choice- I agree. When there's something I read which I thought was brilliant, and I tell someone to read it, I like to watch their faces as well. There's something magical about watching someone discover good literature. Thanks again for your continual reviews :D**

**The Silvermoon Wolf: Thank you! I really enjoyed writing it. Fluff is just plain fun. Yeah, I know, but Narcissa wiggling her eyebrows was just so amusing that I couldn't resist. **

**Pug1998: Thanks so much! :)**

**Llamagirl/Stardrop5: Yes, I am perfectionista, as you say. Just a busy one. So here's a chapter for you to read xD. Thank you.**

**KodeV: If your mother resembles my Narcissa, she must be awesome. Yes, I think Draco is really gaining emotional depth (gasp! A Slytherin with emotional depth?) and as a result, his interactions with others are going to get a lot more fulfilling. Thanks so much for the in-depth review! :)**

**Lady In Red: Thank you! I am so pleased to hear that it's making you laugh. :D**

**Ice-Kitsune-317: Haha, I try to update…. But here's another chapter, so hopefully it makes up for it. **

**Silverbellekait: Sorry it's taken so long! Hopefully, this chapter is just as good. Thank you!**

**Fletchling: Update… now! Thank you :)**

**Wow… there are so many reviews! Thank you all so much for your support and for following the story.**

**-Isefyr**


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen: Heights**

So it was that Draco ended up, early one morning, standing on the doorstep of the Parkinson Manor. He eyed the door cautiously, brushed off his formal robes, and hesitated. Which was ridiculous, of course. The door wasn't going to bite, after all.

He didn't move. For some reason, this door was more intimidating than that of the Burrow.

…

He sat down to tea with an impeccably dressed, flawless Pansy, looking as if she had been carved by a master sculptor. Not a hair was out of place, and her polite manners only supported this picture of untouchable perfection.

She was, of course, wearing Slytherin Green, and all he could think of was how he liked Hermione in red.

…

After the first awkward throes of the conversation, Draco finally started to relax. Pansy was smiling, and they were laughing and reminiscing, and generally having a good time. After one particularly hilarious anecdote about the Giant Squid, Pansy finally stopped laughing enough to ask:

"Draco, how long have you been seeing Hermione?"

He stopped laughing with a strangled noise. "I'm not- I don't- I-" Deep breath? "I'm not dating Hermione."

There was the faintest blush on his cheeks, he was _sure_ of it. Pale skin had its disadvantages. To Pansy's credit, she ignored this and paused to rephrase her question.

"How long have you been friends with _them_?"

…

Pansy was one of his oldest friends. And she was a Slytherin, so she knew the value of keeping secrets. She wouldn't do any harm.

That's what Draco told himself, as he told her the entire story, from the final battle onward.

That's what he told himself, but he really just needed to let it all out.

…

She was quiet the entire time. She didn't gasp in surprise, or make noises of disgust, or look at Draco with anything but a quiet understanding and solidarity. Her expression did not change. And when he finished, surreptitiously wiping away the wetness under his eyes, she only asked one question.

"Why did you pick her over your father?"

He didn't know what to say.

…

He could see the faintest reflection of himself in his tea, and he stared at it while he replied.

"I think," he said slowly, "that I knew it would be better for everyone if he was gone."

"Even if it meant killing your own father?"

He looked up at Pansy sharply, but he knew that the question was not meant to be harsh. She was simply weighing all the facts before she judged him. It was a skill that she hadn't had in Hogwarts, so he wasn't used to it now.

Draco let out the breath he was holding.

"I don't think I thought of that at the time. It was just…. They needed her. How far had they come, how much had they been through, it was too much to be suddenly gone. They'd already lost enough."

"So had you."

"I don't matter," he said simply.

…

There was a loud SMACKing noise, and Draco realized that Pansy had slapped him.

"Don't you ever say that, Draco Malfoy, don't you ever say that!" Pansy yelled at him, breathing heavily. "You're the best of all of us, and you think you don't matter?"

He just sat there, stunned. She sat back down, composing herself, smoothing her skirt out.

"What I mean to say, Draco," she said in her normal voice, "Is that out of all of us, you've redeemed yourself the most. And you've been through the most. None of us had the Dark Lord in our homes. And we may not be as emotional as Gryffindors, or intelligent as Ravenclaws, or caring as Hufflepuffs, but we should stick together and support each other, because right now we're all we've got."

"I don't understand," Draco said.

"We're basically outcasts, Draco." Pansy said, closing her eyes. "Nobody wants to speak to us, even though none of our parents were Death Eaters. We were allowed to your trial, but even though we have legal credibility, we have not been accepted. My parents are in _France._ The Greengrass family is trying to marry their daughters off outside of the country as fast as they can. Blaise's mother hasn't been seen in public for ages, because she won't leave her estate."

She stirred her tea. "So of course I'm going to stick by you, no matter what, no matter whether you've killed your father or if you're in love with a Gryffindor, _I will stand by you_."

"_Pansy_," he said, and walked over to hug her, because there were absolutely no words for the feelings in his heart.

…

Then they were both crying, and Draco couldn't tell who was holding the other up, but maybe they were both leaning on each other.

Gryffindors were all very well and good, but they were so _open_. Draco didn't realize how much he'd missed being around people who understood him without speaking, and being around people like him.

_And maybe, just maybe, _he thought, _I can hold on to some of the past while still moving forward._

…

Finally, they sat down again, and Pansy delicately dabbed at her eyes with a napkin.

"Narcissa doesn't know," she said quietly.

He shook his head.

"When are you going to tell her?"

"I don't know."

…

Draco left the Parkinson Manor feeling as if he'd run for miles. He was tired, and it felt like he'd been hit with something in the general vicinity of his heart.

But he felt better. Better than he had since the final battle, better than he had for a long time.

And after so long, he felt like he might be healing.

…

It was the Weasley dinner tonight, and Draco was unusually quiet. Hermione, who was next to him, put her hand over his and asked him if anything was wrong.

He looked at her, and slowly raised a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her hear.

"No," he breathed. "Everything is exactly right."

And she smiled.

…

Of course, Ron took this perfectly inopportune moment to swallow a canary cream hidden in the potatoes, and between all the yelling and laughter, the moment was lost.

…

**Alright, it's been a long time and I do really apologize for this. I have been so busy with school and everything that I haven't had any time to do any writing. **

**However, I am writing the next chapter as you read this, so it should be up shortly- today or tomorrow- to make up for it. **

**Before I do my usual thing and reply to my reviewers, I want to reply to KodeV in specific, because you mentioned in your review that you'd recently lost your mom, and I wanted to put up another chapter for you right away but things started to pile up. So, I dedicate this chapter to you and your mother, and I really hope that you are okay and things are looking up.**

**Lady in Red- thank you very much! **

**Pug1998- well, of course Draco has feelings. He's just not out there like all the emotional Gryffindors ;)**

**KodeV- thank you for all the positive feedback! I was so pleased to see this essay on it. And Draco is growing up. This story is Draco's journey, and he's going to help the rest of the Slytherins along. I have great plans for them. :) Once again, thank you. **

**Fulgance- I am always happy to read your reviews, you always have something insightful to say! And, Pansy is going to play a part, I think. Thank you so much!**

**Melsocrazymarie- and thank you too for reviewing!**

**All right, let me get on this next chapter!**

**-Isefyr**


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen: Effervesce **

After work the next day, Draco was glad to be home. He would be able to relax. To put his feet up in the library and just take it slow. He wanted to bask in the luxury of his home.

Of course, that wasn't going to happen.

As soon as he'd taken his work robes off and traded them for something more comfortable, he was set upon by his mother and his aunt. Andromeda had been spending as much time around the Manor as possible, along with Molly Weasley, and Draco was absolutely positive that they were plotting something nefarious.

Narcissa tried to bring up the subject delicately.

"Draco, dear…"

Andromeda just let it out.

"We're going to host a New Year's ball!"

…

"Does _we_ include _me_?"

…

After being soundly smacked over the head by both his mother and his aunt, (what _was_ it with women smacking him these days?) they explained that he would definitely be helping to decorate the Manor and he would definitely be expected to attend.

"I'm sure Hermione would be delighted to accompany you," Narcissa added with a wink.

…

Draco tried to nonchalantly wander off after this comment, but alas, such pale skin meant that not even a disillusionment charm could hide his blush.

At least Narcissa and Andromeda were laughing so hard that he could sneak away.

…

When it came time for the invitations to be addressed, Draco did, however, show quite an interest in the proceedings.

"I think you should invite Pansy."

"And maybe some of the other Slytherins, too, just so we aren't outnumbered."

"Have you remembered to invite George?"

"What about Hermione?"

…

Narcissa looked up at Draco with a sly smile on her face. "You have to ask Hermione yourself."

"But-" he protested, feeling as if he was five years old.

"No buts. Either you ask her, or else."

The appropriate reaction to this statement seemed to be one of two things: say, "Yes, mother," cheerfully, or head to his room to sulk.

Draco chose the latter.

…

Draco hovered inside the Ministry, wondering why he was making such a big deal out of this.

"It's not as if you haven't spent time with her already. She comes over to the Manor all the time. You read books together. So why are you so nervous?" He berated himself.

"Talking to yourself is one of the first signs of insanity," an amused voice said behind him.

Draco whirled to see Hermione standing behind him, tapping her toe. She had a pleased smirk on her face, and Draco's brain scrambled for something intelligent to say in reply.

"Um…"

…

In the end, Draco managed to ask her, albeit incoherently…

…Out to lunch.

Hermione accepted cheerfully, chattering happily about this and that, and Draco lost the sense that he'd just failed in the radiance of her smile.

He pulled her chair out for her in the café, let his hand linger on her shoulder for a minute, and then sat down. It was as if he was on autopilot- his manners were flawless, and he was functioning as a perfect, attentive Malfoy.

Unfortunately, the thoughts spinning around and around his head were along the lines of, "You're such a chicken. Honestly, Draco…"

…

Or perhaps that was his mother speaking, as they decorated the ballroom for New Year's.

"You're such a chicken. Honestly, Draco, how am I going to get grandchildren at this rate?"

…

The next day did not find Draco at the Ministry, but Hermione at St. Mungo's.

"So," she said, "Are you going to ask me to this ball or not?"

She sounded rather amused, and Draco thought she must have been laughing at him.

"Of course," he said smoothly. And with that, he got down on one knee in front of her, enjoying the panicked and confused look that crossed her face. He took her hand, moving his thumb across it in slow circles.

"Hermione," he said slowly, "Will you…"

She sucked in a breath, turning a rather fabulous shade of magenta. Their children would have _fantastic_ circulation. _Not _that he was thinking about it.

"…Go to the ball with me?"

"Oh, you," she laughed, and smacked him lightly on the head. He hoped it was an affectionate smack. "Of course I will."

…

He casually informed Narcissa that Hermione would, in fact, be attending, and then he sprinted for his room before she could make any sarcastic comments.

…

Of course, one stressful invitation was replaced by another.

Narcissa had accepted that he'd wanted to invite Pansy, Blaise and Theo Nott (the three who he thought would be the least offensive to his Gryffindor friends, even if Pansy had been rather shrill back in school), and though she had given him a funny look when he'd said he'd wanted to deliver the invites himself, she had capitulated.

The expensive parchment of the invitation was heavy in his hand when as he approached the Parkinson Manor, where he'd asked them all to meet.

His spine was _very_ straight as he presented himself at the front door.

…

Pansy gave him a hug that was slightly more than perfunctory, and given their discussion the last time he'd seen her, he returned it with enthusiasm. When he shook Blaise's and Theo's hands, he gave them a firm grip, willing the handshake to say _I'm on your side. I'm here for you. _

And not because he felt charitable- they wouldn't accept it if it was charity. Because his eyes were open now, and if the world thought that he deserved his place in it, than they most certainly did as well.

…

They were initially suspicious about attending a ball in the public eye with a pride of lions.

"Look, mate," Theo said, sprawled on the perfect couches as if it were the Slytherin common room, "The Gryffindors may like you, but I'm pretty certain that they'll eat the rest of us alive."

"I bullied them the most," Draco said stubbornly. "And if they can accept me, they sure as hell can accept you."

Pansy, he thought, was pretty much convinced, watching him with those new calculating eyes of hers. The others weren't. He had this odd sense of déjà vu, except he'd been on the other side of the conversation before.

"Look," Draco said. "Do you want to live your life, _normally_, or not? You can't just sit there and expect something to happen to you. You have to get out there and change things. I am showing you this opportunity to change things, and I hope you'll damn well take it, because us Slytherins have the right to take the spotlight for once. This time, in a good way."

He knew he must have said the right thing, because Pansy smiled.

…

It was only later that he realized that he'd paraphrased what Harry Potter had said to him.

…

In the end, they capitulated, as Draco had hoped they would.

Blaise and Theo left the Parkinson Manor quietly, but looking like they had a new sense of hope.

"Drake," Blaise said, clapping his shoulder but not meeting his eyes, "I'm proud of you. And I hope… that one day you'll be proud of me too."

Then he'd grasped his hand and sort of hugged Draco, and the two pounded each other on the back, the friendly blows weighted with wary relief.

…

Pansy looked out the window as the other boys left.

"What did I tell you? You're good for us."

Draco looked at her, struck. She turned to him and smirked.

"So, what are you wearing? You'll want to impress your…_date."_

…

The Pants Crisis that he'd had before Narcissa and Andromeda's reunion was nothing compared to this. This was an absolute disaster.

…

**A/N**

**Okay, so "tomorrow" is relative. I finally came up with another one!**

**And the next chapter is the ball, so hopefully that'll be inspiring. **

**Fulgance- Pansy had a fairly minor role in this chapter, but I have something delightful planned for the ball, so I hope you enjoy that as well. I really want to explore the Slytherins, because none of them were heroes, so it will be interesting to see what happens! As always, thank you for your review and your support! :)**

**KodeV- Sometimes, Draco needs to be slapped. But I was really happy with how his visit with Pansy turned out as well. The Slytherins were so separate, their nature was nurtured by the environment they were thrust into. And I think that they can all grow up, all together. Of course, they're not going to lose their natures entirely, but you'll see in the next chapter! You're welcome- and thank you again for reviewing!**

**Pug 1998- Pansy is amazing. I know JK Rowling really didn't like her, but I think she could be something epic. Thanks for reviewing!**

**Alright, off to write some more!**

**-Isefyr**


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen: To Dance**

Draco was hyperventilating for absolutely no good reason.

He had his clothes ready, he'd spent ages in the shower, the decorations were all done, the food was being prepared, the live music was on its way, and he'd paced back and forth a couple times.

Five hours until the ball!

…

_Exactly_ at 7:30 (not so early to be disgustingly eager, but definitely not late), Draco apparated to Hermione's house and knocked on the door. He checked his hair in the doorknob, and assumed a position of casual expectancy.

"Come in," she called. "I'm almost ready."

What was the protocol for this? Did he stroll in and lounge in her sitting room? Did he wait outside the door?

Was she not wearing any- he meant, was she really not ready?

He was going in.

…

Draco closed the door quietly behind him, and surveyed Hermione's flat. It was small, but had the appearance of being spacious due to the way she'd done the rooms. He crossed to the divider between the kitchen and sitting room area- it was entirely made of bookshelves- and started to examine the books.

_House Elves and their Idiosyncrasies, A Compendium of Wizarding and Muggle Law, Growing Up in a Pureblood House…_

He stopped. Pureblood?

Draco pulled the book out as Hermione walked into the room, and then he forgot all about the book.

She was wearing a floor-length gown in silver, and his brain was instantly too consumed to absorb any other details.

"You look… enchanting," he said, and bowed.

…

She came closer, smiling.

"You really are one smooth talker, Mr. Malfoy," she teased. Then she noticed the book in his hand, and the blush that spread across her cheeks entranced him. "Oh, you saw that."

"I've never read it," he said, putting it back on the shelf.

"But you lived it," she answered, and then switched the subject. "Shall we go?"

"Of course," he said, bringing her hand to his lips. "I can hardly wait."

…

They arrived just before everyone else, and Hermione spun into the ballroom with childish delight.

"Oh, wow," she said. Her eyes were sparkling, and she twirled slowly in the empty ballroom, trying to fit it all in. "This is spectacular. What charm did you use for the icicles?"

Draco sighed dramatically. "Once a nerd, always a nerd," he teased, and she twirled into his chest and smirked up at him.

"But you like nerds, don't you," she purred. She was suddenly very, very close. He swallowed nervously.

The Weasley Troupe arrived _just_ in time to save him a response.

Thank Merlin for the Weasleys.

…

People were arriving, and Draco was swept up in the whirlwind of being a charming host.

"Don't leave me alone for a second," he whispered in Hermione's ear. "Some of these old Pureblood mothers are like vultures, and then I'd be engaged without knowing it, and you'd be left alone and forlorn."

She grinned up at him "Forlorn, eh?"

"Completely," he breathed, and she tucked her arm around his waist with a smile.

And stayed there, till all the greeting was done.

…

The music started, and Draco felt a thrill of anticipation travel from his head down to his toes. He turned to Hermione with a wicked smile on his face, bowed, and asked, "May I have this dance?"

She tossed her hair. "I suppose, if you promise not to step on my toes."

"I think you should be more worried about where my hands are going to be," he purred into her ear. Hermione shrieked with laughter, and he picked her up and spun onto the dance floor.

…

And oh, how they danced! There were fast songs aplenty, and Draco had fun- yes, really, _Draco had fun_- spinning Hermione around, doing fantastic dips and leaps and silly, wiggling motions. He danced with her until his feet were tired and his sides hurt from laughing and his face hurt from smiling nonstop.

…

At one point, they took a break, and they watched Harry dance with Ginny and whisper in her ear. Ron made a gagging sound and turned to Draco.

"Say, who's the beauty in purple, over there?"

He was pointing at Pansy, to Draco's shock. He tried to avoid the question, not sure how Ron would take it.

"I thought you were dating Lovegood?" he asked, casually.

Ron shrugged. "She wanted to travel, and I didn't. So who's the girl?"

Draco hesitated, felt Hermione's hand tighten in his, and just gave in. "…Pansy Parkinson."

"No way!" Ron said, astonished. Then he looked back at Pansy, who was hovering awkwardly at the edge of the party with Theo and Blaise. "Do you think she'd like to dance?"

…

Pansy had been dancing with Ron, and laughing, for quite some time before Draco asked to cut in. The redhead acquiesced good-naturedly, and headed off towards the banquet tables, which he claimed were beckoning.

"You alright, then?" Draco asked. "Weasley hasn't stepped on your feet too much? You haven't caught any blood-traitor germs?"

"Stop it," she smiled, and smacked him lightly on the shoulder. "He's been very kind. Bloody Gryffindors. It's very hard to feel vindicated when they don't do anything mean."

"I know!" Draco exclaimed. "They're just so…. Sensitive."

They shared a shudder of disgust, and both laughed.

"So, you're having a good time?" he asked, hesitantly.

She looked up at him, with her implacable Pansy-face on. "Well, aside from the snubbing from some of the well-to-do Ministry folk, people are very… forgiving."

They both looked out over the crowd, spotting Hermione and Ginny in conversation with Blaise and Theo. The two boys looked slightly uncomfortable, as anyone would when backed into a corner by two war heroines, but there were little half-smiles on their faces all the same.

Pansy made a very unladylike snort. "Poor boys. They don't know whether to stare or cower."

They both laughed, and spun back into the crowd.

…

The ball was flashing by in a flurry of happy moments. Hermione's face as he threw her in the air – Pansy dancing and smiling – Harry and Ginny tucked close together – Red hair _everywhere_ – Narcissa and Andromeda making a short speech – Hermione, her hair tickling his face when she twirled – Blaise and Theo plotting something with George - Smiling and laughing and generally feeling _alive_.

…

The fastest song yet was on, and Draco found himself surrounded by all his friends, surprised by their number but pleased by their company, dancing crazily and whirling from one person to the next, laughing until his sides hurt. And whenever he or Pansy or one of the others was too stiff and too formal and too afraid, the rest of the group would pitch in and spin them around until they were happy and smiling and _loved_.

…

Later, he'd recaptured Hermione for a slower, sweeter dance. He ignored George and Harry making exaggerated "congrats" motions in the corner, and pressed his face into her hair.

She smelled like everything he'd ever smelled in Amortentia, and he finally admitted to himself that she was exactly what he wanted from this life.

He hoped – dear Merlin, he hoped – that he would get to keep her.

…

Midnight approached, and Draco ushered everyone outside.

"To old friends and new," he said, "I wish the happiest new year."

…

When the fireworks started, he was next to Hermione, and the cheers from the crowd were suddenly background noise.

"Happy New Year," she whispered, to the accompaniment of "THREE! TWO! ONE!"

The biggest firework of all went off, all the colours of Hogwarts intertwined, and Draco didn't even stop to think, because suddenly her hands were around his shoulders and his were around her waist and he was kissing her as if he'd never have to breathe again.

She tasted amazing on his lips, on his tongue. Everything was filled with new life, new colour, and new reason to live. The fireworks on the edge of his awareness boomed, and the crowd cheered, and Draco felt his heartbeat rise to meet the noise, pounding through his skin, across his lips, and into hers, as if it was speaking everything he wanted to say.

His senses were singing, and _he didn't want it to stop_.

Finally, they broke apart, breathless, and Draco smiled and pulled her close, brushed his lips to her forehead, and they settled into each other to watch the fireworks end and the New Year begin.

…

**A/N:  
>Well, it only took Draco nineteen chapters!<br>Hopefully, the ball was up to your expectations! It was mostly fluff :). I confess, I wrote it over a long span of time, so I hope it's not disjointed. **

**KodeV: Ooh, ouch. Well, hopefully the hints will stop… eventually… Draco's going to take matters into his own hands. I have a feeling that Narcissa won't rest until she has grandchildren of her own… xD. Thanks for reviewing, once again! If you smile when you read my story, I always smile when I read your reviews. **

**Fulgance: It looks like Draco and Hermione are headed on the way to children with great circulation! First, lunch dates and dancing, tomorrow, serious snogging! I hope you enjoy this chapter as much. Thank you!**

**Pug1998: No worries- thank you for reviewing! I hope you like it so far! **

**StarDrop5: Here, a ball. Aren't you excited? You're welcome ;) Thanks for the review!**

**MauraudersMischief: Wow. Thank you so much! I am thrilled that my story has had such an impact on you. And no, I'm not JKR, but I **_**do**_** appreciate your review! I hope that I can continue to meet your standards :D**

**Till next time…**

**-Isefyr**


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty: Sugar Rush**

The next few days went by in a blur of smiling faces.

His slide into sociability was rather anticlimactic; there was no fanfare or sudden media coverage, just the acceptance of the inevitable. Draco was neither surprised or expecting this to happen, because as far as he was concerned he wasn't anyone's business but his, his mother's, and Hermione's.

…

The group of young people that was at the ball expanded. Draco found himself spending time with not only Hermione, but also Ron, Harry, Ginny, George, Pansy, Blaise, Theo, some more Weasley offspring, and varied people from their school days.

He was a beautiful social butterfly, he thought as he watched Pansy and Ron dance around each other with snide comments and fluttering glances, and he magnanimously spread all the love to the rest of the world.

Still- he thought, glancing down at Hermione in the circle of his arm- he wouldn't have minded some time alone.

…

He floated past any awkward stage of his and Hermione's relationship.

They were together, without any verbal acknowledgement. It surprised him how quickly they slipped into the pattern, as if it was there all along, just waiting for them to come and fill it in. There were arguments, and misunderstandings, but Draco loved the arguments just as he loved the moments when they got to be alone. To him, they were one and the same.

Some days, after he said goodnight, he'd watch her close the door to her apartment with a sigh and wonder what he'd done to deserve this wonderful woman.

…

It was a splinter under his skin, a constant reminder that he couldn't _just_ give in and be happy. It was a pressure behind his eyes when he looked at his mother or his aunt, and an irregularity in his heartbeat when he met Harry's eyes and read the question _have you told them yet?_

And when he had to shake his head and saw Harry roll his eyes in resigned patience, it was a guilty, sinking feeling in his stomach.

…

"Hermione," he began one day, when they were reading in the Manor's library, "What… what do you think about what I've done?"

"What have you done?" she said absently, turning the page in her book. He smoothed her hair and tried to think.

"I was a Death Eater," he said slowly. "Doesn't that cover it?"

"Oh, that," she said, and closed the book.

"Draco," she said, looking up at him, "You've changed. And you never killed anyone, you tried not to hurt people, and you did your best. I'm _proud_ of you, now. You should be proud of you, too."

He tried to open his mouth to tell her that he had, in fact, killed someone, but her lips were on his and he discovered that he was suddenly distracted by her citrusy scent.

…

Honestly, Hermione too easily distracted him.

…

He tried to ask Harry what he should do, in a rare man-to-man emotional conversation that _Draco_ had initiated rather than Boo-Hoo-I'm-So-Emotional Saint Potter.

(No, being friends with Harry had not taken away the instinct to create witty nicknames for him.)

Anyways, Harry had listened to him worry and complain, and had nodded and said "uh-huh" in all the right places, and Draco had felt reassured.

And then Harry opened his saintly mouth and told Draco that he had to "Either man up and do it or stop whining about it, because I'm not going to fix it for you. Surely there's a way you can break it to your mother gently. Do it when she's in a good mood, and when you're alone."

Draco just stared at Harry blankly, until Harry finally pushed him out of his flat and locked the door.

…

It couldn't be _that_ simple. Nothing in life was that simple. What if his mother disowned him? What if she never wanted to see him again? What if it was published in the _Prophet _and the entire world, which had just started to accept him, shunned him again?

…

What if, what if, what if.

…

He tried to put it at the back of his mind.

…

Pansy invited herself over for tea, one day, and had the girliest chat with his mother about, all people, _Ron Weasley._

Standing at the parlor door, Draco heard the sentence "And he's just so sweet and gentle to me, but I'm worried I'm not good enough for him…" and promptly stopped eavesdropping, overcome with the urge to vomit.

Once he had recovered sufficiently, he went down to say hello.

…

"How's it going, Pans?" he asked sincerely, sitting in the smallest study with her.

If his and Hermione's room was the library, this was his and Pansy's. This was the study they'd played in while their parents tried to draw up marriage contracts, the study they'd ranted about Gryffindors and their parents in, the study where, just before the war started, Pansy had come over, tried to give their relationship one last go, and told him "Don't do anything stupid, Drake, please?"

They'd plotted and gossiped, cried and laughed, and generally become good friends in this little room, and Grown-up Draco liked the idea of continuing their friendship in this room. It was the Slytherin Common Room that they could still get into; it was a place where they wouldn't be judged.

"Great," she smiled tentatively. Her posture was impeccable as ever, and there was still the steely Pansy tucked somewhere in her spine, but she was happier than he'd ever seen her. "Life is… good."

"You sound surprised," he teased, and she laughed.

"I am surprised. I thought the world was done with me for good," she said sincerely. "But you got me out, and I got me out, and I am doing a lot better."

"That's what friends are for," Draco said, "We stick together. Even if one of us _is_ hopelessly falling for a _Weasley._"

"Or the other is deeply in love with _Granger,_" Pansy added, and smiled.

…

Before she left, she'd asked him if he'd told Narcissa yet, and all he could do was shake his head in the face of her sad look.

…

On Thursday nights, after everyone had finished work or whatever they did for the day, Draco's group (as he liked to think of them) convened in the largest drawing room and talked.

Some days it was just him and the Gryffindors, and others it was him and the Slytherins, but most days it was simply an amalgamation of houses and hair colours, sprawled across the priceless furniture.

He liked thinking of how his grandparents and great-grandparents would have had a fit if they'd found the footprints of Harry Potter on their couch.

…

Tonight it was Theo, Pansy, and the Golden Trio, and they were good-naturedly debating some triviality from their school days. Of course the houses took sides, and Ron was bantering with Pansy on the loveseat while Theo took on Harry and Hermione. Draco just watched and listened, amused at the circumstance and content.

"-And a right bunch of Gryffindork swots can't prove me wrong, by Merlin's pants!" Theo exclaimed, sounding slightly bitter. Draco woke up slightly, wary at the edge in his tone. Theo was the least able to adjust to their group, and sometimes he took it out on others.

"But it's this Gryffindork swot that had possession of the Marauder's map, and knows where _all_ the secret passages were," Harry said, lazily. "Trust me."

"As if I want to trust Saint Potter!" Theo exclaimed.

Pansy looked up. "Theo, calm down. We're all friends here."

"Oh, bollocks," Theo said. "If Draco can kill his own father and get away with it, surely I can profane a couple of Gryffindors."

…

"What?" came Narcissa's voice from the doorway, soft and broken, and Draco closed his eyes against the feeling that he was drowning.

…

He heard his mother leave the room slowly, and Harry saying, "Now you've done it," and Theo saying, "Blimey, mate, I thought everyone knew…". He heard Ron and Pansy in a fierce discussion in the corner, and the beating of his heart, a slow and rolling death-knell.

But he only saw Hermione's eyes asking if it was true, and the hurt in her eyes when he nodded, once.

…

The fun was taken out of the evening. Everyone left with a solemn air, and Draco sat in the drawing room, staring at the embers of the fire.

He was empty again. He was sitting in a room far too big for him, with a weight far too heavy on his head, and this hollow feeling in his chest that he couldn't stop.

He put his head in his hands.

"I was going to tell you, Mom," he said to himself. "But not like this."

…

**A/N:**

**It took me forever to figure out how to write this chapter. I apologize for the wait!**

**KodeV: well, Draco loves her. He just hasn't entirely figured it out yet. :) And in the future, I think we'll see more of Ron and Pansy as well. I felt it was time to bring Draco's main problem back, though! Thanks for reviewing again and I hope you enjoy this chapter just as much. **

**Pug1998: Thank you so much!**

**Fulgance: Thank you! This is the first time I've written a story quite like this, and I'm glad that you think it's working out so well. And, as you can see, you were right about Lucius' death… I hope you continue to enjoy. :) **


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty-One: Sugar Low**

Draco sat outside Narcissa's bedroom door and waited.

He'd tried knocking, calling, sending a house-elf in and whispering "I'm so sorry"s to the wood, but she wasn't letting him in. From time to time he heard movement, a rustle of cloth or a sigh. Once he heard a sob, short and sharp and cut off, trembling with the effort of containment and release.

And so he waited, sleeping outside his mother's room, riveted by the need to explain.

…

Theo was the first person he saw after The Incident, because Draco somewhere had found kindness and wasn't going to let Theo feel guilty about it for _too _long.

Privately, he thought that the bloody prat might as well suffer a little, but apparently he'd gone too soft and didn't want anyone to suffer too much.

…

"Draco?" Came Theo's voice from around the corner, and Draco cast a look at his mother's door before going to meet him.

Theo didn't look so great. He looked about as guilt-ridden as a Slytherin could get.

"I'm sorry," Theo started, not meeting Draco's eyes, and Draco cut him off.

"Look at me, Theo."

He looked up.

…

"You didn't know," Draco said, softly. "You didn't know, and it's okay. And anyways, I'm used to you being a right pain in the arse," he added as an afterthought, and Theo looked up at him with a watery grin.

"Look at you," he said, "All grown up."

Draco didn't ask him what Theo thought of his patricide, and Theo didn't say, just clapped Draco on the shoulder with Slytherin solidarity.

Draco returned it with a confidence he didn't feel, smiled with a joviality that he didn't have, and saw him on his way. Theo, in the end, walked out with a straighter spine, and that was what mattered.

It was strange, Draco thought, but somewhere along the way he'd learned how to be gentle.

…

People continued coming to see him; but he rarely moved from his vigil outside his mother's door.

…

Pansy wrote him a letter; Draco guessed that she didn't want to be around him right now. He surmised that she'd told Theo in passing, probably to convince Theo to grow up or guilt him into doing something, and forgotten how regrettably loose-tongued Theo was for a Slytherin.

He tried not to blame her. It wasn't something he would have done, betraying his friend's secrets for a "greater" good. He wasn't sure if that was better or worse, but he was learning that some things about people couldn't be measured by degrees: they simply are. Pansy was Pansy, Theo was Theo, and Draco was Draco, whether he wanted to be or not.

…

The next person who came to see him was, surprise surprise, Mr. Feelings Potter.

He hesitated down the hallway, as if he didn't want to intrude on something that was important. Draco stood to meet him, resigned, knowing what he was going to say somehow before he said it.

"I can't go talk to Hermione right now," Draco said.

"She wants to talk to you."

"She does?" There was hope blossoming under his breastbone, aching with the sudden release.

Harry held up his hands. "I didn't say that she was _happy_. I said that she wanted to see you."

"Harry," Draco said, and he felt the plea in his voice, trembling on the way up, "I can't do this right now."

"Yes," Harry said, meeting his eyes, "You can."

…

"Can you ask her to give me one more day?"

…

Harry shook Draco's hand and turned to go.

"Potter."

"What?"

"How come you haven't been looking at me any differently?"

"I already knew."

"No, I mean, before. How come you just went ahead and let us become…friends?"

Harry stopped, and considered.

"You know," he said slowly, "I judged you before you did anything. Even though you hadn't done anything inherently evil, you hadn't done anything inherently good, either. That- killing your father- was your first act, one that would change our little corner of the world. And I think that because of that, I knew what kind of man you wanted to be. And I wanted to know him."

"Who did you want to know?" Draco entreated. _Who did I want to become?_

"You," Harry pointed at Draco, transfixing him on the end of his finger. He turned, then, and left.

"_Me?"_ Draco whispered.

…

This time, he pressed his forehead to his mother's door and cried, great silent sobs that shook his entire frame with the exertion of keeping them in.

…

His Mark was burning. Draco rubbed it absently, not wanting to look at the mark on his skin that just hours ago was only another scar. The pain made him focus.

He didn't want to focus. He wanted to scream, and cry, and break things. He wanted to hide in his room and not come out again. He wanted to go far, far away and be miserable.

But he also wanted Hermione. He wanted his job. He wanted the life he was building for himself, the life where he was loved and accepted and _needed._ The life that he would grow old in, and pass on to his children.

So Draco took hold of himself, and he stepped up and knocked on the door once more.

…

Maybe there was something stronger in his knocking this time, or maybe Narcissa just thought that it was time.

The door swung open, and Draco's heart dropped to his toes in a sudden, surprising jerk.

They surveyed each other, icy blondes with red eyes and tear-stained faces. Draco took a stutter step forwards, trying to ask questions with his eyes, pleading somewhere within for his mother to pick up the pieces and make it all better again.

"I…" he started. "…I'm sorry," he whispered, feeling the inadequacy of his words as he spoke them. "I am so, so sorry," he tried. "I…"

…

"You can't bring him back," Narcissa rasped, finally. "Maybe that's for the best."

He looked at his mother, really looked this time. She was disheveled and worn, but her posture was that of the woman who had dived in to help after the last battle, that of the woman who had stood through her trial without flinching, that of the woman who had hosted the Dark Lord and _survived._

"I just…" She swallowed, and he felt the ache of speaking through a voice that has been crying for too long. "How did it happen?"

…

"He was going to kill her, and then who knows who he would have gone after," Draco croaked, surprised at the effort. "I was the only one who noticed. And I couldn't- I couldn't-"

He heard a sob, and he wasn't sure where it came from. His hands were shaking, and he gripped the frame of the door so tightly that he heard it protest. "The curse was out before I could think of something else," he whispered, "And he was-"

He couldn't say it. Merlin help him, he couldn't say it.

"Gone," Narcissa supplied, watching him with a look that was half soft and sad, and half raw grief.

"He didn't even know it was me," Draco whispered.

…

Her hands were fisted in her skirts, and then she spread them, wide, a gesture of opening and acquiescence. He stared at her hands, the delicate fingers and the white line where her wedding ring used to be, not comprehending.

"I cannot hate my own son," she said. "And some days I hated my husband."

It was not acceptance, and it was not understanding, not yet. Even so, Draco stepped into his mother's arms with relief.

At least, now, they were crying on the same side of the door.

…

**A/N:**

**So, I tried to update faster this time around!**

**KodeV: I don't think the conversation is over, but I think it's begun. Thank you! I hope this lives up to it! **

**Fulgance: Thank you so much! I really like hearing what parts of the chapter you think are the best. Hopefully this chapter continues to make you feel for Draco and his emotional life. :) **

**Luna9: Thank you! Read and find out ;) **

**Pug1998: I am very glad that you enjoy my writing style- thank you. I hope you like this chapter too!**

**DramioneAgainstAllOdds: And here you go- Thank you for reviewing!**

**The Silvermoon Wolf: Angst will remain in abundance, I assure you. As well as the Weasleys xD. Thank you!**

**Harder Than The First Time: Well, that was the plan. xD.**

**I have been informed that I'm nearing 100 reviews! Thank you all SO SO much for reading and loving my story. Anyways, I thought that for the 100****th**** and 101****st**** reviewers, I would offer to write a one-shot prompted by them. Something they'd like to see. Again, thanks so much! **


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty-Two: Shutters**

Everyone's been nervous for something. You shiver, you can't sit still. You pace or twitch or feel the butterflies crawl up and down your skin, you talk too much or too little. Once the event has come to pass, then you wonder how you could have been nervous in the first place.

And then there are the times that you panic so much that you feel sick. Dizzy, heart pounding, shaking hands. You wonder how you're going to get through it, you feel small and scared.

This is Draco, on Hermione's doorstep.

…

It had been hard enough to explain to Narcissa.

…

Draco had always known that Narcissa was an adult. She was a mother, nurturing and supporting, but she was also firmly Narcissa, grown into her strengths and weaknesses, able to handle herself in the world. He'd gone into her room knowing that she could handle it without punching him in the face.

Unfortunately, with Hermione, he had no such assurance. He could all too easily conjure up her unhappy face - and fist - from the past.

…

For some reason, doors were frightening to Draco. He supposed he might be developing a phobia… he would have to ask Hermione what "fear of doors" was.

This was silly. He'd knock on three.

One, two….

Two and a half….

Three….

…

Four, five, six…

…

He raised his hand and brought his fist down on the door with a sudden jerk of courage. The contact with the material made him shudder.

Draco pressed his ear to the door, listening intently for any sign that Hermione was walking towards it, waiting for the sound of her footsteps.

"Draco?" Came a soft voice from behind him.

He let his forehead rest on the door a moment longer. She _would_ come and catch him looking like a total idiot.

…

Hermione was standing behind him, uncertain, holding plastic bags filled with groceries in each hand.

Draco turned to survey her appearance: she didn't look unhappy to see him, just… guarded. Slightly closed off.

"Let me take those," he said gently.

She stretched out her arms cautiously, but she didn't pull away when his hands brushed over hers, butterflies of made of questions.

…

He waited patiently, like a gentleman should, while she unlocked the door and ushered him inside. He stood at a distance, trying not to make her uncomfortable, when really all he wanted to do was kiss her and let his lips do the talking, let the words that he didn't know how to say present themselves to her without sound.

There were so many _words _inside him. They all wanted to come out, all at once. He never knew that there was this roaring tide inside him, wearing down his resistance, trying to come out.

…

The Hermione he knew was direct and practical, so it surprised him when she offered him tea. It was a stalling tactic, he could tell. He just couldn't tell what she was afraid of. It was _Draco_ who should have been stalling for time.

He acquiesced, and once he'd deposited her groceries in her kitchen, wandered out to the living room to separate himself from the awkward silence building between them.

Wandering over to the bookshelves, he noticed the book that had caught his eye before. It was titled _Growing Up in a Pureblood House, _and it looked much more worn than when he'd last seen it.

Listening absently to Hermione shifting things in the kitchen, he opened it to a random page near the end, and lit upon a paragraph surrounded by handwritten notes.

…

"…._but there is always that impulse in humans to throw themselves in front of death for those they love. The smallest, the quietest, the weakest- none of these categories will matter one someone is in danger. It is in everyone. Though in Pureblood households it may seem that the ability to love without reserve has been leeched out of them, it is there. It is waiting to come out, and this author fully believes that one day each Pureblood will have the opportunity to show their worth..."_

…

Written around the paragraph, assumedly in chronological order:

…**I wonder, if Draco had been there when Lucius died, if he would have thrown himself in front of that curse. I'm sure there are redeeming qualities in them both somewhere. If Draco ever comes out of the Manor I'd like to find out…**

…**Did Draco even mourn his father?... **

…**He mourns him every day. I can see it in his eyes…**

…**I think that Purebloods are definitely capable of all-consuming love…**

…**Throwing yourself in front of a curse for someone is easier than casting the curse and being the survivor…**

…**If someone kills their parent, what does that say about their character? Can it be forgiven?...**

…**And if they're defending someone else, what does that say about the other person? Who could **_**possibly**_** be so important?**

...

Draco was shocked that Hermione had actually _written _in a _book_, but no more shocked than at what she had written. He blinked, and read it again.

He heard a soft "Oh…" from behind him, and turned to see Hermione, tea in hand, teetering on the edge of the room.

"You found… you found…" she swallowed. "What did you find?"

…

He dropped the book and was across the room in seconds, toppling the tea out of her hands and sweeping her into his arms, ignoring the crack of china and the hot tea spilling onto the floor.

"Draco, stop, Draco, _the tea-_"

"Was that it?" He murmured into her hair. "Are you worrying about not being _important_ enough?"

She stopped squirming and tried to sound fierce. "Well… the part where you _killed your own father_ might have something to do with it…" He flinched a little, but there wasn't any venom in her voice.

"But you've forgiven me for that," Draco said, and it wasn't a question, but he was tensed for the answer all the same.

It was a sigh, the slightest whisper into his shirtfront.

"Yes, I have."

…

"So is that it? Is that what's bothering you- being not important enough?"

He loosened his hold a little, so he could see her face when she answered.

"I'm just one person, Draco. Regardless of what I've done in my life, how can I be important enough to justify it… in your head? How can I be that important, enough so that you can look at me without thinking of him, enough that in the future you won't resent me for that choice? What if…" - and here her voice dropped and a blush rose in her cheeks – "…what if one morning, in the future, you wake up next to me and _you_ question why you did it and if it's even worth the pain?"

…

_What if… in the future… you wake up next to me…?_

…

Draco crushed her to him again.

"Darling," he whispered, fierce happiness roaring in his chest, "You are the only thing that will ever be that important to me."

…

Apparently, Hermione liked this idea, because then there was some kissing.

…

Or maybe a lot of kissing.

…

"I'm going to have to clean up the tea eventually, you know."

"_Tergeo._"

"Oh… alright…"

…

**A/N:**

**I am deeply sorry that it took me this long to get this chapter up. I found it very, very hard to write, so I hope I did it justice. **

**So! 103 reviews! Thank you all so much for giving me your input. 100****th**** reviewer (Fulgance) and 101****st**** reviewer (StarDrop5)- you can PM me with a story prompt at any time you wish!**

**Now… I have a lot of responding to do:**

**Honoria Granger: I'm glad you're continuing to enjoy it! Thank you!**

**ThestralRose: I thought that his Mark burning would be more like "phantom pain", something that is reminding him of the things he's done and generally adding to his misery.**

**KodeV: Thank you so much! These last two chapters were hard to write, so I'm glad it worked out :) **

**Guest: I will indeed!**

**Hafsa: Wow, thank you so much! I am so pleased that you like it!**

**Pug1998: Now, Hermione. :)**

**Fulgance: You do indeed get the 100****th**** review! Thank you for continually pulling quotes out that you like. I'm so delighted that you think it's conveying every emotion I want it to. **

**StarDrop5: And yes, you get a story too. Thanks!**

**Sw: How incredibly inconvenient! But I'm happy that it made you laugh. **

**Ouggggggg: Thank you!**

**Alright… on to the next chapter! I think this story will find its end soon. But for now, see you in the next chapter. **

**-Isefyr**


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter Twenty-three: Denouement**

Draco woke up cautiously.

He always woke up with some trepidation, as if the morning was going to pounce on him and attack with bloodthirsty delight. But usually he was waking up in his own bed, not on a couch. And usually, he did not wake up to the sound of loud and cheerful singing, or the smell of something delicious.

He opened one eye carefully, and then the other.

…

The couch was in Hermione's living room; the singing was Hermione, and the smell was, apparently, breakfast.

He remembered now that he'd been a gentleman, and after staying up late talking and kissing and forgiving, she'd told him to stay and he'd relegated himself to the couch.

But the singing and the breakfast were wonderful, and the light kiss that Hermione dropped on his forehead with a "Good morning!" was even more so.

…

Unfortunately, Draco remembered that he had to go to work. He remembered mid-snog, with Hermione up on the counter and their hands twined and sudsy from the dishes, to be exact.

"Merlin's pants," he whispered to her lips. "I wish I didn't have a job."

But he'd been truant for too long. He didn't even remember what excuse he'd given for the past week. So he sighed, and told Hermione that he had to go, and if he didn't return before sundown, that she should wear his handkerchief beside her heart forevermore.

He didn't have a handkerchief, actually, (he'd burned all the stiff, Malfoy-monogrammed ones a long time ago) but that was beside the point.

She laughed, and splashed him with more water when he tried to sneak in another kiss.

…

He was surprised at how easily they'd slipped back into this, whatever their relationship was. It was as if it was simply inevitable, undisturbed by fair or foul weather.

…

Draco needed a new shirt, since Hermione had gotten his covered in soap and water. Rather than go home, he bought another shirt. He wasn't sure he was ready to face the gleam that entered Narcissa's eye at any thought of grandchildren.

…

The work was endless. Accidental hexes and potion mishaps, wounds from cursed curtains and silencing spells by irate relatives. Draco fixed it all. There was a lack of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes employees in the wards, and he was definitely relieved.

About halfway through the day, he had the rather odd experience of a patient _asking _for him.

He was an irate old man, crotchety, favoring a wand built into a cane. Draco came out into the waiting area to find a nurse talking to him in a soothing tone.

"I want Healer Malfoy," the old man said. "That's the only healer I'll see."

…

Draco had never seen the man before. But he'd asked for Draco, and Draco would not turn him away. As he prepared the potion for the man's ailment- curse backlash- he asked him one question.

"You know who I am?"

The old man snorted. "You're the best Healer in the country. I won't go to anyone but the best."

…

For the rest of the day, Draco greeted patients with a smile.

…

At the end of the day, Draco was worn out, but vaguely happy. He waltzed into the Manor humming a lively tune, and took the stairs two at a time to his room to change.

Narcissa appeared in his doorway. "Out with Hermione again soon?"

Draco tried to keep a scowl on his face, but it didn't work. Instead, he threw a pillow at Narcissa, who laughed and told him not to start a war that he couldn't win.

…

He saw Narcissa off to Andromeda's home (where she could live vicariously through Andromeda and her _grandchild_) and then wandered around the Manor rather aimlessly, having given the house-elves the night to do as they pleased.

He'd just sat down in the library when the fire before him turned an unpleasant shade of green and Ron's head appeared in it.

(Draco was quite surprised).

…

"Hey, mate!" Ron said, rather cheerfully ignoring the fact that Draco's jaw had dropped.

"Uh… hi?" Draco asked cautiously, not sure what kind of etiquette this meeting required.

"So, if you're not doing anything," Ron said, "Mum was wondering if you'd like to come over for supper."

"But… er…." He wasn't sure how to phrase this politely. "Does your family really want my company still?"

"Blimey, mate, are you _still_ on about that? You're forgetting that none of us ever really liked the bloke anyways. Regardless, Pansy's coming over and I bet she could use the company. And mum's always looking to fatten you up."

Draco considered it.

"Hermione's coming too."

"I'll be there right away."

…

He approached the Weasleys' door with flowers for his host and a present or two tucked in his pocket. Before he reached it, however, a floating pinkish thing attacked him. It reached into its quiver and started firing at Draco, who immediately knew what was going on.

"GEORGE WEASLEY!" He yelled gleefully, running for cover.

…

Apparently, George had wanted to test his Cupid before Valentine's Day, and Draco was his chosen victim. Luckily for Draco but unluckily for George's product, it had been proven that a simple snowball could take down the Cupid.

George decided to avenge his product.

Chaos ensued.

…

Luckily for Draco, his flowers survived, and Mrs. Weasley accepted them with a smile, which interrupted her glowering at their soaked, disheveled states. Also luckily for Draco, Hermione was rather good at clean-up charms, (he supposed that he shouldn't be surprised as she was good at everything), and he was returned to his impeccably dry state.

…

Draco, Hermione and George walked into a rather curious scene. There were redheads sprawled all over the place. The only two non-Weasleys were Potter (who was practically a Weasley anyways) and Pansy, who was sitting rather shyly next to Ron and listening to Percy talk about his job at the Ministry. (Some things, apparently, never change).

Pansy looked up and saw them, and looked equally delighted and worried at the sight of Draco in the doorway. He supposed that she was still feeling guilty, but he also suspected that she'd cooled Ron down a little, and he owed her for that.

Besides. Slytherins would be Slytherins, and he'd made his peace with that.

…

Harry pulled Draco aside just before supper was announced.

"Everything's good?"

"Right as rain," Draco assured him, wondering why Harry looked as though he'd seen the Grim. He sucked up his courage to ask, and comfort (that's right, you heard him) if need be.

"Are you alright?"

Harry twitched, and looked back at Weaselet- _Ginny_. He did this a couple more times before Draco grabbed him by the shoulders and asked again.

Harry exhaled. "I'm going to propose to Ginny, and I'm a little nervous."

"That's your problem?" Draco demanded. "She loves you. You love her. You're already part of the family. I'm surprised you haven't done this already. Merlin, I thought you'd be churning out little Potterlings by now!"

Harry's colour was improving. "Really?"

"Really. Now, use your Gryffindor courage, and go for it!"

"Okay," Harry said with a sigh. "Okay, I can do this."

"Good Godric, of course you can."

…

After that pep talk, Draco thought that everything went rather swimmingly.

Just as Mrs. Weasley joined the group to inform them all that dinner was ready, Harry stood up.

"Wait a moment, everyone."

Harry gulped nervously, and Draco sent him an encouraging smile.

That's right. An encouraging smile. From Draco.

"Ginny," he turned to her, and gave a little half-smile, trembling a little. "Ginny, I love you. You are my world. You are my everything, and I cannot imagine my life without you."

He went down on one knee, and pulled out a ring, and everyone in the room was suddenly, absolutely still. Ginny looked at him calmly, with a gentle smile on her face, as if she knew that this was coming for a long time, as if it was inevitable and just as routine as brushing her hair in the morning.

"Will you marry me?" Harry asked, and the question was evident in his entire being.

Ginny's smile grew. "Yes," she said simply, and bent in to kiss him.

The entire room cheered, and Draco found himself cheering with them, holding Hermione's hand and feeling like he'd witnessed a miracle.

…

The evening held a feeling of good cheer after that. It was as sunny inside, even long after the sun went down.

Draco caught Pansy in a corner, who bit her lip and looked down.

"Hey," he said in a normal tone of voice, as if everything was completely normal and they were the most average people that ever lived. "You remember how you always wanted those earrings of my mother's, but in purple?"

She nodded, face creased with confusion rather than guilt.

"Well," he said, digging them out of his pocket, "I finally found them for you."

He handed them to her and smiled, telling her with his eyes that there was nothing more to say.

…

Draco ended up, as the evening wound down, on a hill out on the Weasley property, arm around Hermione who was curled into his side. He toyed with a strand of her hair and felt in his pocket for his final gift of the night.

What a saint he was being! He'd given Molly Weasley flowers, Harry advice, Pansy reassurance of their friendship, and George a snowball to the face. What a generous man he was. He was discovering, though, that he liked the feeling of giving. It was probably, he mused, one of the reasons he liked his job.

He passed the tiny box to Hermione, who turned it over in her hands.

"Open it," he whispered, tugging her hair gently.

It was a tiny charm of a book, which opened and shut like a locket. She ran a fingertip over it, and he could feel her hesitate.

"It's very nice," she said uncertainly.

"You haven't opened it all the way," he said, smiling and trailing his lips down her cheek. "Open the book and kiss it."

"_Kiss_ it," she said, sounding amused. "Are you sure you won't be jealous?"

"Quite," Draco said, and watched as she followed his instructions.

The little charm turned into a key, ornate and golden.

"It's to the Manor, and will open any door inside," he said. "You'll never have to wait to be let in."

She kissed the key again, and watched as it turned back into a charm. She put it around her neck sedately, drawing away from Draco to complete the task.

And then she tackled him to the grass and kissed the living daylights out of him, so he must have done something right.

…

**A/N:**

**And here, my long-suffering readers, is my update. Mostly fluff, but I hope you enjoyed it! There will be two more chapters, a wedding and an epilogue. I'm almost sad to see the story conclude, but I'm looking forward to it all the same. **

**KodeV: Thank you so much! I'm glad that you enjoy my writing, and your reviews always make me smile. I hope you enjoy my final chapters equally!**

**Evaline101: Thank you! I'm sorry for the slow posting, but here it is.**

**Ayjah: Thanks :)**

**Meadow-music: I appreciate your opinion! Thank you!**

**NightWhisper184: Thanks for the paragraph! I'm thrilled to know that Draco seems human, and glad that you think I'm hitting the mark on the writing. Thanks again!**

**Fulgance: It is, indeed, drawing to a close. I love the story, but I don't want to drag it on forever. I would like to end it with everyone happy with it- the characters and the readers both. That said, I love your reviews too! Thank you for all the effort you put into them as well. Thank you thank you!**

**The Silvermoon Wolf: Thank you so much! I am writing happy indeed. **

**Pug1998: Glad you liked it. Thanks for the review :)**

**Amber611: Thank you! I hope you continue to enjoy!**

**Alright, that's all (lots of reviewers, thanks so much!) until the next time!**

**-Isefyr**


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter Twenty-Four: Conjugation**

"Are you ready?"

"Why wouldn't I be ready?"

"You don't have to do anything else to get ready?"

"No, Draco, this is it."

"That was fast. Hey- OW- I mean, you look beautiful!"

"Thanks, sweetheart."

"I don't know why you need me to state the obvious all the time."

…

Draco and Hermione apparated from her flat to the Burrow, where Molly was gleefully holding court over the preparations. Narcissa, who had gotten up even earlier than Draco had, was already there, ordering the Weasley boys around with imperious motions of her hand.

Once inside the burrow, they had to separate- Draco to Ron's room, where the Groom-Who-Lived was probably pacing nervously back and forth, and Hermione to Ginny's old room, where the bride was, much more sedately, preparing herself.

"See you at the altar," Draco murmured at the foot of the stairs, brushing his lips over Hermione's. "I'll be the handsome groomsman with the perfect hair."

She kissed him back, taking the opportunity to ruffle his styled blonde locks. "Oh, will you now?"

…

Flattening his hair frantically, Draco ascended the stairs to what was likely Panic Central. Not bothering to knock, he walked in to the room, only to discover not Harry, but Ron, who was enthusiastically snogging a short woman in purple.

He definitely could have done without that image in his head. But he was lost, so Draco tapped Ron on the shoulder, ducking away as Ron turned to him with a growl. As the couple broke apart, the woman's identity became obvious: Pansy. She flushed a colour akin to Ron's hair, and hid behind the aforementioned Weasley.

"Oi," Ron said breathlessly, trying to make an angry face at Draco, whose smirk was growing wider by the second. "What are you doing?!"

"I'm lost. Direct me to Saint Potter and I'll go on my merry way," Draco said cheerfully, enjoying the stricken expressions on the couple's faces.

He walked out of the room whistling a merry tune. Perhaps love was in the air.

…

Harry was much more calm than Draco had expected to find him. Of course, he'd expected something akin to a panic attack, considering Potter's delicate disposition and propensity to be emotional, so anything was an improvement.

Draco walked in to a tableau of Harry staring out the window absently, fiddling with a cufflink. _His_ hair was, unquestionably, a mess. Draco smoothed his own hair once more and carefully sat on the bed, trying not to wrinkle his suit.

(Harry had opted for muggle-style vestments for this occasion, and Draco had to admit that suits were more dashing than dress robes, any day).

…

"Where's Ron?" Harry asked, after he'd finally come out of his trance.

"Hello to you too," Draco snarked. "He's… pursuing recreational activities. With Pansy," he added as Harry gave him a questioning look.

…

Harry resumed his dramatic tableau, but when Ron came in flushed and trying to slow his breathing, Draco could have sworn he saw a little smirk curling up the side of Harry's face.

…

The guests assembled on the lawn, visible only as tiny varicoloured specks on the plain. Draco and Ron, who were playing wizard chess in the corner, noted that Harry was doing an odd dance comprised of alternately tugging on his cufflinks and playing with his hair.

Ron looked back at Draco and lowered his voice.

"Honestly, he's such a _girl_ sometimes."

When Harry didn't even respond to this tentative insult, Ron sighed and sat back in his chair.

"It's your turn to give him a pep talk," said the redhead, directing his knight to slaughter one of Draco's rooks.

"_I did it last time!" _ Draco hissed, retaliating with his bishop.

"Hey," Ron said, "I had to do the pep talks for _seven years straight_. It's _so_ your turn."

Draco rolled his eyes, but acquiesced as Ron's queen stepped forward and murdered his king.

…

"Oi, Harry!" Draco said cheerfully, glaring daggers at Ron. "Shouldn't we be going downstairs soon?"

Harry continued looking out the window with a Byronic air, fiddling with his sleeves.

"Potter," Draco said patiently, "Get your arse moving."

Harry swung around, looking sick. "I don't know."

"What do you mean, "you don't know"! You love the woman! You're going to marry her, and then start to produce Potterlings, and you're going to be one of the happiest couple on earth. And then I'm going to marry Hermione," he said firmly as Harry looked at him with wide eyes, "And Ron's going to keep dating until he decides to settle down, and we're all going to have kids and go to dinner at the Burrow all the time, and our kids are going to grow up best friends, and go to Hogwarts and get into trouble and we're all going to grow old together, _and that's how it's going to happen._"

Harry took a deep breath, but he was smiling.

"You want that, right?" Draco said slowly.

"Let's go, mates," Harry said with a slow, blissful smile. "We're going to have a wonderful life."

…

Ron patted Draco on the back. "You can take pep talk duty from now on," he whispered as he followed Harry downstairs.

…

Ten seconds later, Ron was back in the room.

"Did you say you were going to marry Hermione?"

…

Finally, Harry and his groomsmen were stationed at the altar, awaiting the procession of the bride. Draco looked across the smiling, expectant faces with amazement, from his mother to Blaise and Theo, from some of his old Hogwarts teachers to the innumerable redheads scattered across the lawn.

It was _almost_ perfect. It was the kind of happiness he'd been looking for all his life without even knowing it, a slow-burning love for life that presented itself as a warm glow somewhere in his chest. He could feel it, glowing beneath his breastbone, and reveled in the feeling that somehow, everythingwas going to be grand_._

...

The fanfare started up, and the bridesmaids came swanning down the aisle, laughing and smiling and suppressing tears. Draco caught Hermione's eye as she settled into line opposite him, and she gave him a brilliant smile that told him everything he wanted to know.

Ginny followed her bridesmaids, radiant on her father's arm. Her eyes found Harry right away, and the grin that followed made her at least twenty times more beautiful.

She reached the altar, Mr. Weasley sat and borrowed his wife's handkerchief, and the official started to speak.

…

"We are gathered here today," she began, "To celebrate the union of Harry James Potter, and Ginevra Molly Weasley."

"About bloody time!" George called from the front row, and the audience cheered.

…

The official began to speak about the sanctity of marriage, the highs and the lows, the give and take, and Draco let the words wash over him like waves. He'd learned about love, already. There were problems, obstacles, yes; but there were also wonderful things like kisses and curly hair and notes written in books, pranks and inside jokes and being called "mate", pillow fights and reunions, solidarity and trust and honesty and hope.

Perhaps, he realized, he was listening after all. He didn't need anyone to _tell_ him about love. He didn't need to search for it; he didn't have to lie on the floor of a bookstore and wait for someone, something, to snap him back to reality.

He had it. And as Harry and Ginny shared their first kiss as husband and wife, Draco pressed his hand to his eyes and was shocked to discover that he, like Hermione, was weeping tears of joy.

…

**A/N:**

**Fluff, fluff, fluff. **

**That is **_**almost**_** the end, dear readers. There's an epilogue left, which I will post within a couple weeks, and then "Letting Go" will draw to a close. I hope you have enjoyed Draco's journey as much as I have. **

**To my wonderful, fantastical reviewers:**

**KodeV: more fluff! Yes, I wanted to put in something about Draco's redemption in society as well. I'm glad you loved it :) and I hope you like this chapter equally!**

**Roguesmum: Thanks so much!**

**Tamarichan: I'm glad you think that my characters are real. Thanks for the review!**

**Kvance: Well, it's just about done, but I'm glad that you found it so engrossing. Thanks so much :)**

**MemoirsofaLostCause: I opened my email after writing that last chapter and found a review from you for practically every chapter! WOW! Thank you for putting all the time and effort into reviewing, it is really appreciated!**

**Pug1998: I know, fluff fluff! :)**

**LadySarahj: And here you go, an update. Thanks!**

**Fifitheflowertot: Thank you for your review! I do like Draco's POV. **

**Fulgance: That's okay! Your reviews are always worth the wait. Well, this is mostly fluff as well, but the epilogue will have a healthy dose of angst in it to wrap everything up. And yeah- that exchange with Pansy was hard to write, but I'm glad you think I nailed it!**

**I hope I didn't miss anyone. If I did, thank you very very much!**

**See you all in the epilogue!**

**-Isefyr**


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter Twenty-five: Onward**

Snow was falling, and it dusted the stones of the graveyard with a gentle blanket, another layer of sleep for the dead. Draco breathed out slowly, watching his breath coalesce in the cold, held together for an instant, then dissipate into nothingness.

Every year, this was hard for him to do. On this anniversary- the date of his father's birth, rather than his death- he made himself go to the headstone that he'd made himself purchase, and he knelt on the cold stones and spoke to his father (or was he speaking to himself?) about forgiveness and regret and anger and love. When he'd married Hermione, he came fearing that somehow, from somewhere, his father would make his disapproval known.

But he hadn't. Whether that meant that he was watching and approved, or had moved on, Draco didn't know.

He still came back every year.

…

"Hello, father," he said, kneeling gingerly on the marble. "Happy birthday."

The stone was silent, implacably unresponsive.

"I brought you a present," he said, and laid down a rose. "Well, two, actually."

Silence.

Draco took another breath, watching the snow twirl around his face, before finally, nervously exhaling, "I'm going to be a father."

The silence was still expansive, but Draco continued as if Lucius could actually hear.

"We know that you weren't the best of parents. In fact, you tried very hard to mold me to be exactly what you wanted, and that didn't work so well. And I'm worried….Well, I'm worried that I'm going to be the same. That I'm going to be a bad father, and pressure my kid into the wrong choices, and that it's all going to go somehow, terribly, _wrong._"

He took another breath.

"And at the same time, I wish you were here. You weren't a _terrible _parent, you know. And I don't have anyone to guide me on what it's like to be a father. I don't have my own father to give me advice. Hermione's dad is great, but he's not you. He's not vicious and opinionated, but he's also not fiercely protective of me, and he doesn't love me in the same way. I don't have _you_, and I'm not sure who's at fault for that."

There were tears freezing on his face, slowly making tracks down his skin in a thoughtful manner.

"So what do I do?" he asked the headstone, the expensive marble pillar that was all he had left of Lucius Malfoy. "What do I do?"

…

"I miss you," Draco whispered. "It's easier to remember the good things about you, now that you're gone."

He knelt on the marble with his head bowed, lost in the swells of his thoughts. The snow caressed his cheeks, and he closed his eyes against the rush of tears.

…

Something was glowing beyond his eyelids, something warm and friendly on his face. He opened his eyes to the sun breaking through the clouds, shining down onto Draco with silent benevolence. He blinked through his tears, watching the snow sparkle in the light as it settled onto the graves. The rose already had the faintest dusting of snow, and the entire picture was serene, no longer melancholy.

It was a lovely place for his father to sleep, Draco thought, and felt a little more at peace.

…

He saw Hermione's figure in the distance, bushy hair bouncing as she approached. With a groan, he pushed himself to his feet, and walked towards her, glancing back at his father's grave as a form of goodbye.

"Fancy seeing you here," he murmured to Hermione as he met her at the edge of the graveyard, "on a day like this."

She smiled up at him, one hand resting on her swollen midriff, and placed the other hand on his. "How are you doing?"

Draco looked back at Lucius' grave. "Better," he replied.

"Good," Hermione said softly. "Shall we head home now?"

"Yes," Draco said with a sigh. "Let's go home."

…

As the two walked away, Draco's arm wrapped around Hermione's shoulders, the sun danced on the graves once more. And if one were to look closely, very closely, at the air above Lucius' grave, one might see that the sunlight had gave the impression of long blonde hair and an aristocratic profile, gazing after the couple.

And if one looked even closer at that aristocratic and haughty face, one might even see a smile.

…

**A/N:**

**And, that's the end, folks! Short, but sweet. I wanted everything to come full circle, and I hope I have succeeded. **

**Thank you all for reading the story and loving my version of Draco as I have. I have loved writing this, and really appreciate the enthusiastic response to my first multi-chapter fic!**

**And as always, to last chapter's reviewers: FancyMuffin7837, LadySarahJ, a Guest, Pug1998, RoguesMum, StarDrop5, Konri Kari, and special thanks to KodeV and Fulgance for your in-depth reviews which I **_**always**_** have looked forward to. Thank you all! **

**This is the end of this story, but I will be writing more in the future. So, until then-**

**Isefyr.**


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